


harry.exe has stopped working

by inksmachine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Smut, Feelings, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship is Magic, Harry Being Harry, Hufflepuff Ron Weasley, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It should be canon, M/M, Manipulation, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Some angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Zero fucks given, all houses in one class, bc plot, bc you all want that too, bc you all want the dirty, don’t lie to me, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:29:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 25,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksmachine/pseuds/inksmachine
Summary: Harry Potter no longer has any fucks to give. That’s it. That’s the plot. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.((And all because Death does something absolutely fucking stupid behind Harry’s back.))Or; Harry dies and wakes up back in the cupboard underneath the stairs. Fed up of being thrown around like a dogs chew toy, both literally and figuratively, Harry takes matters into his own hands and changes the future as we know it.((Helping Voldemort may not have been on his initial plans, but here he was. ))
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 568
Kudos: 2463





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One** : 

Harry is shaken to reality by a chorus of sharp knocks against something wooden and hollow. His gaze is bleary and the room that he’s in is cramped and dark. It makes his back straighten up, his heart tries to escape through his throat as he feels around. There are shelves and clothes, a book and _ah_ — his glasses. He forces them over his nose.

Harry’s pretty sure that neither heaven nor hell are supposed to be a tiny, dark room. But then again, Harry had taken his own life, so maybe this _was_ his afterlife. Forced to sit in a pitch black room with no one but himself to keep him preoccupied; to stew between his thoughts and his emotions. A recipe for madness if you asked him. 

Blinking a few times, Harry furrows his brows when he can finally make out a few things in the dark. There’s a thread hanging above his head and he hesitantly raises his hand and pulls on it. There’s a little ‘click’ sound and then the room is flooded with fluorescent light. It makes him screw his eyes shut tight. After a few seconds, Harry slowly flutters them open and gapes. 

He’s, _he’s—_

“Wake up Potter!” An all too familiar voice shouts from somewhere above him. There’s a set of thumps as if someone’s jumping up and down on the stairs. It sends a trail of dust onto Harry. 

“Mum!” The same voice shouts a few seconds later, their feet thumping loudly against the ground as they run. “Harry isn’t making breakfast!” 

_He’s back in the cupboard under the stairs._

Harry all but scrambles around and stumbles out of the cupboard, hitting his arm on the small door in the process, green eyes wide and breath caught in his throat. He frantically eyes everything. The hallway is the same, filled with pictures of Dudley throughout his years. The staircase is painted white, not a speck of dirt to be seen. The carpet is the same, boring shade of creamy white that it was all those years ago. 

It makes him sick to his stomach. 

Harry doesn’t _want_ this. 

He’d rather be under the illusion that he was in a cramped room with minimum to no space without anyone but himself, descending into madness as the years would go on. 

“Get on with it, freak.” Aunt Petunia hisses from the kitchen. “Don’t burn anything.” She glares at him from her seat at the dining table, thin lips twisted into a scowl. It’s so _normal,_ so _familiar_ , so _bitter_ that it makes Harry move on autopilot. He goes through the motions, moves around the kitchen like he’s done it a thousand times before because he has. Dudley snides at him a few times and so does Uncle Vernon, but Harry’s so, _so_ out of it that he doesn’t even register it.

Not until Dudley starts shouting about his presents. 

“Thirty-six?” Dudley raises his voice, face turning pink with rage. “But last year, _last year_ I had thirty-seven!” 

Harry pours Uncle Vernon his morning coffee, holding back a sigh. 

“Yes, well,” Uncle Vernon wears a smile, “some of them are quite bigger than they were last year.” He tries to reason. 

“I don’t care how big they are!” Dudley yells. 

Moving away, Harry stops paying attention at that point, knowing very well what happens next. By the time they make it to the zoo, Harry is tired. Not in the usual sense either. His shoulders are weighed down by such a heavy weight it makes him drag his feet behind the Dursley’s. It’s like his tiredness had once been a heavy jacket and now was just heavy bones. Harry had lived, survived, _endured_. He wasn’t, he _isn't_ ready to do that again. 

“He’s boring,” Dudley makes a face, heaving an annoyed sigh that fogs up against the glass he’s leaned against. 

Harry waits until the Dursley’s collectively turn and leave to go torment some other poor animals.

 _“Are you alright?”_ Harry asks, slipping into parseltongue. He holds his gaze on the beautiful serpent inside the reptile exhibit. _“I’m sorry about him. He doesn’t understand what it’s like. Lying there day after day. Watching people press their ugly faces in on you.”_

The snake slowly raises his head and gives him something equivalent to a wink. It makes Harry give a shaky grin, glad that he’s still able to speak the language of snakes. _“Can you understand me?”_

Raising its head higher, the snake slithers out its tongue to taste the air. It stares at Harry with intelligent eyes and nods.

 _“Good,”_ Harry nods his head back. He moves his gaze to the side and reads the sign there. It says a simple _‘bred in captivity.’_ It makes Harry slump his shoulders. _“You know,”_ he starts off, turning his gaze back to the snake, _“me and you aren’t all that different. I’ve never gotten to know my parents either.”_

“Mum! Dad! Come here! You won’t believe what this snake is doing!” Dudley exclaims in excitement, elbowing Harry out of the way and effectively sending him down to the ground. Dudley presses himself right up against the glass of the reptile exhibit. 

Just like last time. 

Irritation sparks quickly within Harry. He glares up at Dudley with anger in his green eyes and wishes the glass would disappear and — and _it_ does. He smirks when Dudley yelps and falls forward, splashing into the pond and yelling when he realises that he’s face to face with a dangerous snake. 

Harry can’t help but laugh quietly. He watches with glee as the snake slithers itself over the railings and onto the floor in one smooth movement. _“Brazil here I come!”_ The snake flicks its tongue out once more. _“Thanks amigo.”_

 _“Anytime,”_ Harry grins. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello dear reader :)   
> thanks for stumbling onto this fic and giving it a chance ~


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

Harry goes through the mail, looking for the one letter that’s addressed to him. Once he finds it, he stares at it for almost a full minute, tracing his eyes over the loopy letters and the red stamp with the Hogwarts emblem. It makes him feel nostalgic. For a second he thinks of Hermione and Ron and tears up. A lump forms in the back of his throat and he has to force himself to swallow through it dryly. 

“Hurry it up!” Uncle Vernon yells from the kitchen. It snaps Harry from out of his daze. With a sigh, Harry blinks always his tears. He shoves his Hogwarts acceptance letter underneath the door of his cupboard and brings the rest of the mail towards a waiting Vernon. 

“Oh,” Vernon voices, turning to look at Petunia who’s noisily peering through the kitchen window at their neighbors. “Marge is ill,” he says. 

“What a pity,” Aunt Petunia mutters. She moves away from the window and sits at the table beside Dudley. Harry does quick work of settling bacon and sausages across their plates, hungrily eyeing the pieces of food. The last time had eaten was about a week ago and that had been a pathetic slice of bread with some cheese. His Aunt seems to notice the hunger in his expression because she shoo’s him away like one would shoo a stray dog from their doorstep.

Later, under the guise of gardening, Harry pens an answer back to Hogwarts on a piece of ripped paper. He sends it along with an owl, the one that had been circling their house since this morning and it hoots at him before it takes off in flight. This time there are no letters flowing through the fireplace like a river, there are no long trips across the country or even Hagrid kicking down the door to take him away on his flying motorcycle. 

The sun is high up in the sky, not a cloud to be seen and it makes Harry sweat in his oversized clothes. He pulls out the weeds between colourful flowers and mulls over his thoughts internally.

He can’t stay with the Dursleys. He needs to leave, as soon as possible. He also needs a wand. Trying to do magic without it was proving to be a hassle. He had managed to float a book in front of his face for a solid five seconds before he had sagged against his sorry excuse of a mattress and passed out. Ah, but where would he go? Harry supposes he could stay at the Leaky Cauldron. He’ll need a disguise though. 

Groaning, Harry resigns to his fate of forever having the worst luck. 

Weeks pass by all the same, the days blurring together into one. Harry practices using his magic late at night. He floats books, manages to spell a crayon to write across his little wall and even fixes his glasses when Dudley breaks them the day prior. The priceless look on Aunt Petunia’s face is all worth it, even when she tries to beat the ‘freakishness’ out of him.

When the sun starts setting earlier and the air starts getting colder, Harry packs whatever little belongings he has into a ratty, old backpack and waits for the night to come. When the clock in the hallway chimes twelve o’clock midnight, Harry focuses his magic onto the latch pinned to the outside of his cupboard door. It takes a few seconds to work, but after Harry wishes, wishes _really_ hard, the latch opens with a quiet ‘click'.

The use of his magic makes him feel drowsy and he blinks several times to keep his eyes open. Harry shakes his head and pinches the skin on the back of his hand. It startles him enough to keep him awake. Slowly shuffling out, Harry closes the door behind him and clicks the latch back into place. He winces at the sound it makes, it seems much louder at night than day. Luckily enough, it doesn’t wake his uncle or aunt or cousin. 

Harry swipes a few pounds from Petunia’s coat, enough to get him some food and transport to London. There’s a split second where he thinks of staying, thinks of waiting for a teacher to come pick him up and take him shopping down diagon alley; like Hagrid had once done. And then the second thoughts disappear and Harry escapes into the night. 

It’s exhilarating to make his way down the street in the dark of the night, sort of… familiar. He stops once he’s near the park that he had hid in so many times as a kid. Whenever Dudley and his uh, _friends_ , decided to play Harry Hunting, hiding in the park was the easiest. It had the most hiding places. 

Sighing, Harry sits down on the side of the curb and waits for the bus to arrive. There’s only one bus that arrives this late. It’s this old, rickety one that’s been around far longer than both Harry and the Dursley’s. Harry had used it once before — on the night that he had taken his own life. 

When the bus arrives, Harry pays his fair and sits in the back, away from prying eyes. There are a couple of others sat on the bus, rowdy teenagers and late night workers mostly. Harry eyes then wearily, afraid that he might get caught right off the bat.

After a half hour ride, Harry steps off and gets onto another bus. He stays on that one for a total of twenty minutes because a woman dressed in nurse attire had started asking him questions. Harry had avoided answering her questions and spewed our a few well formed lies like, _“I’m actually on my way home. I have night school, you see.”_

She hadn’t looked convinced and Harry had to escort himself onto another bus. He stayed on that one until it reached London, huddled in the back with his knees drawn up to his chest and face twisted in concentration as he tried to cast a Notice Me Not spell. 

It worked, for the most part. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, damn. I’ve updated three times in a row. I’m on a roll tbh.

**Chapter Three:**

Harry falls face first into the bed of his new but temporary room. He sighs in relief, curling himself around soft sheets and burying his face into a plump pillow. Tom, the bartender and inn keeper, had looked skeptical of him at first, but after Harry promised that his parents would show up in a few days he had relented and let him have a room. There had been awkward questions, but Harry had smiled and charmed his way through. He had waxed poetry about his parents like some love struck fool and Tom had merely nodded his head and smiled. He had asked why Harry had came in so late and Harry had grinned and muttered something about adventure and how both his parents were Gryffindors and wanted him to try travelling alone for the first time. Tom had eaten up the lies easily and Harry almost felt bad.

A _lmost._

That night, Harry falls asleep rather quickly. His dreams are filled with familiar faces, there are even flashes of red eyes and a cunning smile. 

When morning comes, Harry slowly and reluctantly uncovers his face from the sheets. He blinks, closes his eyes and blinks again. There are streaks of sunlight that are floating through the window and dancing across his face. He groans and covers his face back up, trying to chase the remnants of his dreams. It must have been a nice one because he hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night, body shaking and voice hoarse from screaming his pain out. 

He tries to remember what he had dreamt but all he can make out is a pair of red eyes. Harry scowls and throws his covers off. Voldemort, he thinks. The name alone leaves a bittersweet taste in the back of his mouth. But why would a dream about Voldemort be anything nice? Harry scrunches up his nose in distaste and throws his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his knuckles unto his eyes. He yawns. Grabbing his glasses from the bedside table, Harry settles them over the bridge of his nose. His stomach rumbles loudly and Harry drops his head into his hands, groaning as he does so. 

Does he even have any money left? He had paid for the three buses that got him to London. And last night he had used whatever was left for a two night stay. The amount he had paid left him feeling green, but he was glad Tom had willingly agreed to accept his muggle money. 

Heaving a tired sigh, Harry drags himself to his feet and gets ready for the day. Without any money, he realises he needs to get to Gringotts first. Breakfast can wait. 

After he’s brushed his teeth, washed his face and dressed into the nicest clothes he has — which really aren’t all that nice but _still_ . It’s the thought that counts, right? Harry stares at himself in the mirror with a deep frown. Anyone who’d look his way would obviously think _‘Oh look, there goes a mini James Potter’_ and honestly, it’s completely throwing his game off. Harry can’t be recognised. He’ll fuck up if he is. 

Tilting his head in thought, Harry thinks he might have a solution. Though he’s not quite sure if it’ll work. He narrows his eyes at himself in the mirror and concentrates his magic onto his hair. He imagines a nice, pretty shade of blonde. At first nothing happens and Harry drops his shoulders in defeat, but then his hair colour starts changing right before his eyes and a warmth that he’s only ever associated with his wand flows right throughout his body. 

Harry blinks owlishly, caught off guard. Well, because his hair isn’t blonde. No. It’s pink. Bright and bubbly. Sort of the same colour that Tonk’s had been when he had last seen her.

Shit. 

As glad as Harry is that no one will think he's his father's carbon copy, he now has _atrocious_ pink hair that will literally catch everyone’s attention. 

Harry can only groan and make frustrated sounds at himself. 

The walk down Diagon’s Alley is filled with Harry having to dodge around groups of gossiping witches and families and hoards of students that have come earlier to buy their yearly supplies. He sighs in relief when he makes it to Gringotts in one piece. No one had even spared him a second glance, which was… weird to say the least. Harry was always looked at, one way or another. People not staring down at him with disappointment or disgust or some sort of worship was new to him. It felt refreshing, actually. 

If only it would stay that way. 

His talk with Griphook is awkward, especially when the Goblin asks for a key that Harry doesn’t have. But it’s okay, because three drops of his blood identify him as Harry Potter and then he’s being lead through many, many, many doors. 

“Why don’t you have your key, Mr Potter?” Ragnok asks, staring down his crooked nose at Harry who squirms in his seat. 

“I—well—um,” Harry fumbles over his words. _Great one,_ he snarks at himself internally, _marvellous speech there buddy._ He flushes under the Goblins hard stare and clears his throat. “I think, um, Dumbledore has it.” He swallows around the tightness in his throat and flickers his gaze all around the office. It’s dark, filled with many objects. Portraits are slung all over the room.

“Dumbledore?” Ragnok questions. “Why would he have it?”

Harry returns his gaze to the Goblin. “Because he’s my guardian…?” He says, tone a little bit unsure. He definitely remembers Dumbledore having it and then giving it to Hagrid.

“Guardian?” Ragnok lowers his gaze to the papers cluttered all over his desk. “He is no such thing, Mr Potter.”

“Oh,” is all Harry can say. It sounds quiet, tiny and barely there even to his own ears. He wonders if Ragnok had even heard him, but then the Goblin makes a sound akin to a hum. “And you’re sure Dumbledore has your key?” He asks.

“Uh, yes. Yes I’m sure,” Harry answers, nodding his head.

Ragnok levels him with an unblinking stare. “I suppose we could take it from him, without him knowing of course, and give it back to you?”

Harry thinks about it. Swiping his tongue over his lips nervously, he shakes his head. “I think it would be better if you could make a new one and nullify the old one,” he says. “For a price,” Harry rushes to add.

The Goblin gives another sound akin to a hum and then grins sharply, showing off all his fangs. “What a great idea, Mr Potter.” 

Giving an uneasy smile, Harry can’t help but feel like he’s made some sort of deal with the devil. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been less than a few hours but I just want to thank everyone for the views and the kudos! 
> 
> ++++
> 
> harry: blonde. please be blonde--  
> harry's magic: did yall hear smth? did he say pink??? were going with pink--


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

Harry walks out of Gringotts, the pockets of his jeans heavier than they’ve ever been before. He has a moleskine pouch in each pocket, filled to the brim with shiny coins he’s not quite sure what to do with. There’s also the matter of Dumbledore not being his guardian which is, quite frankly, confusing. If Dumbledore wasn’t his magical guardian, then _who_ was? 

Shaking his head, Harry makes his way towards Madam Malkins. If he’s going to navigate around the Wizarding World, he’s going to need to get rid of Dudley's second hand… _clothes_. He might as well get his school robes while he’s at it.

The bell above the door jingles as Harry steps inside the shop. He lets the door close behind him, green eyes flickering all around him as he takes in his surroundings. There are mannequins in every corner, twirling and moving to a tune that only they can hear. Sheets of shiny material are zipping from one side to another, followed by colourful pins and gorgeous gemstones. 

“Here for your school robes?” Madam Malkin asks, sticking her head out from the curtains behind her desk. There are decorative flowers and bows stuck all over her hair, her wand is tucked behind her ear. She smiles at Harry brightly and nearly trips around her desk to usher him onto a small podium. 

“Um, yes,” Harry nods his head, trying to not fidget as a tape measurement uncurls itself from his head to his toes. He’s starting to feel a bit self conscious about himself. He’s not exactly the epitome of healthy and handsome or whatever. 

“Wonderful!” Madam Malkin exclaims. “It’s always a pleasure to meet all you first years coming in. Mind you, it’s never as pleasurable as when the older years come back. They’re all so full of themselves sometimes.” 

Harry laughs and feels himself go at ease. Madam Malkin chatters along and Harry finds himself answering questions and nodding when appropriate. He spends almost ten minutes on the small podium when a familiar flash of ginger hair enters the shop and catches his attention.

It’s… _Ron_.

Feeling his throat tighten and his chest swell with heavy emotions, Harry tries not to stare at Ron so openly. But it’s _hard._ And it _hurts._

“Back for your robes, Mr Weasley?” Madam Malkin steps away from Harry, greeting Ron with a fond smile and a ruffle for his orange hair. “I thought the twins were supposed to drop by to pick them up.” 

Ron shrugs his shoulders. “They were,” he says quietly. “It’s okay that I’ve come to get them, right?” The corners of his lips lift into an awkward, barely there smile and it takes everything in Harry not to step off the podium and just engulf his best friend into a much needed hug. 

“That’s alright. How about you wait here with Mr, erm, Mr…” Madam Malkin trails off, the tone of her voice unsure as she turns back to look at Harry stood on the podium. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten to ask for your name.”

Harry clears his throat and absentmindedly flattens his fringe across his forehead. It’s a bad habit he can’t quite get rid off. “It’s Harry,” he says softly, “Harry Potter.”

The stunned look on both Ron’s and Madam Malkins face has Harry fighting back a sigh. Maybe he should have given an alias or had said his name was simply _just Harry._

“O-oh.” Madam Malkin stutters out. She blinks a few times and then gives a reassuring smile. “Well Mr Weasley, if you could wait here with Mr Potter.” The woman then disappears into a set of curtains behind her desk, muttering to herself giddily as she does so.

“Are you… I mean…do you…?” Ron fumbles over his words, gazing at Harry with hopeful big, brown eyes.

“The scar?” Harry asks.

Ron nods his head, curling his fingers around the front edge of his dark sweater. He nervously bites at his lips.

Harry pushes back his fringe, showing off the thin, pinkish scar in the shape of a lightning that sits over his forehead.

“Woah,” Ron breathes out in awe. “It’s _really_ you.” He then furrows his brows and tilts his head to the side. “But why is your hair pink?”

Sighing, Harry gives a wry smile. “It’s a long story,” he mutters. An idea then sparks somewhere in his mind and he grins, wide and filled with excitement. “I could tell you it over some ice cream from Florean Fortescue's, if you’d like?”

With an enthusiastic nod from Ron, the rest of the day is filled with eating delicious ice cream and going from one shop to another. Harry buys enough snacks to share between them and even though Ron seems hesitant at first to take any, he does when Harry ushers him along and says that friends always share.

The flush that settles over Ron’s pale cheeks is cute. Harry watches him mouth the word ‘friends’ over and over again before he grins, bright and cheerful and giggles like a schoolgirl sat beside their crush.

Eventually they stop at the Magical Menagerie. The shop is small, filled with cages upon cages and it smells horrid. There are brawny owls hooting and kneazles hissing, rats with intelligent eyes perk up once they spot them. Ron covers his nose with his hand and mutters out a, “if you wanted an owl we could have gone to Eeylops Owl Emporium. It smells a lot better there.” 

Harry huffs out a short laugh. “Yeah,” he says, “I know.” There’s a shit eating grin on his face as he shuffles to the front of the shop and stops at it’s desk. A female sits behind it, no older than a Hogwarts graduate. She scrunches up her nose at Harry and blows out a large bubble before she pops it. The pink gum sticks to her upper lip and she swipes it away with her tongue. “What?” She sniffs, leaning her chin into the palm of her hand.

“I was wondering,” Harry starts off, his grin widening when the female begins to blow her bubble again, “if you have any snakes?”

The girls gum immediately pops.

Somewhere behind him, Ron makes a strangled noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Christmas tomorrow — yes, on the 24th. I know, weird, right? — so I won’t be updating for a few days. But after that I’ll get right back to it :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

“Y-you’re, you’re getting a snake?” Ron stutters out, voice shaky. He stumbles after Harry into the back of the shop. The female with the chewing gum had ecstatically pulled Harry around the desk and into the back room, voice going a mile a minute about how snakes were great pets and how it was unfair that no one longer wanted them because of _you-know-who._ The room is small, the windows are all covered with grime, so much actually, that you can’t see out of them. Candles are lit around the room, emitting a soft golden glow.

“Well,” the female pauses, lowering her line of sight to the only reptile habitat they have. It’s a large, glass tank filled with a handful of snakes that are all lounging around themselves, curling this way and that way and huddling around heated rocks. “This is all that we have.” 

Harry gazes at the snakes, grinning wide. “ _Hello_ ,” he says, crouching down so he can look at them better, “ _would anyone like to leave with me?”_ He asks. 

Behind him, both Ron and the Hogwarts graduate make the same sound, an awkward mix between a gasp and a choke. 

Harry ignores them in favour of watching how all the snakes immediately raise their little heads and start hissing.“ _Pick me! Pick me!”_ They yell. A black snake with a green underbelly pushes itself against the glass, “ _Speaker! Pick me!”_ It hisses, it’s voice is sort of muffled against the side of the tank. “ _The others are stupid,”_ it says. 

Huffing out a laugh, Harry can’t help but think the snake funny. “ _Oh really?”_ He muses. “ _How so?”_

 _“The only one stupid here is you.”_ A red snake slithers slowly down a heated rock. It’s underbelly is yellow. “ _Excuse my brother,”_ she says, bumping her little head against the black and green snakes, _“he tends to forget his manners_.” 

“ _Right, right.”_ The black snake nods his head up and down. _“So sorry for all these, uh,”_ he pauses as if to look for words, “ _what’s that word again?”_

The red and yellow snake gives something akin to sigh. “ _Heathens?”_

“ _Yes! Heathens. So sorry for all these heathens in the back. They’re not right for you, speaker. I’m venomous and will kill your enemies if you wish. You should choose me.”_

Harry hums, low and thoughtful. He watches as the red snake suddenly whips out its tail and hits the other snake against the back of its head in reprimand.

 _“I meant us,”_ the black snake hurries to add. “ _You should chose_ **_us_** _.”_

In the end Harry leaves the Magical Menagerie with two snakes. Weirdly enough, free of charge. Each one wraps itself around one of Harry’s wrists, their bodies are thin, about the width and length of a pencil. The girl with the gum had stared at him like he had put the stars and the moon into the sky himself. Harry shrugs it off and instead eyes Ron out of the corner of his eyes. He looks a little… green around the edges.

“Are you alright?” He asks, stopping at the side of the cobbled road. “You don’t look too well.” 

“It’s just,” Ron’s bottom lip quivers, he avoids looking Harry in the eyes when he rushes out a quiet, “you’re a parselmouth.” 

Furrowing his brows, Harry does his best to look confused. “Parsel- _what_?”

This time it’s Ron’s turn to look confused. “Harry,” he starts off hesitantly, “what language do you think you were speaking to the snakes?”

“Well english, obviously.” Harry answers. 

“Uh, well, you weren’t. You were speaking parseltongue. It’s the language of snakes. I’ve heard that only descendants of Salazar Slytherin can speak it.”

“Oh.” 

With a purse of his lips, Harry starts walking again. He reminds himself that he has to act like he doesn't know anything about the magical world. “Who’s this Salazar Slytherin guy anyways?” He questions. Ron falls into step beside him, confusion clear on his freckled face. “He was one of the founding members of Hogwarts. There’s four of them all together. The other three are Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff.”

They walk in silence for a few seconds. Until, “How come you didn’t know about it? The parseltongue, I mean. And about the founding members of Hogwarts?” 

“Uh,” Harry lamely fumbles. He scratches the back of his still pink hair in a sheepish manner. “I’ve only found out about the magical world recently.” 

“Oh, man.” Ron shakes his head. There’s a deep frown across his lips.“We better get to Flourish and Blotts then. You really need to see what they’ve written about you.” 

Harry spends the rest of the day flipping through hordes of biographies. He goes through several at once and makes his disgust about them clear. They’re all filled with _lies_ , so many lies. There are lines and lines about how Harry has lived the perfect life. How he’s had servants at his beck and call. How he’s been fed like a King. How he’s had a _loving_ family. 

Oh, they were _loving_ alright. 

“ _Master_ _, what’s wrong?”_ The black and green snake peaks its head out from Harry’s sleeve and travels up his arm. 

“ _You smell frustrated.”_ The red and yellow snake also peaks its head out and travels up Harry’s sleeve. “ _Is_ _there something we can help with?”_

“I’m okay,” Harry breathes out in English. He flickers his gaze to a worried Ron who’s stood at the end of the bookshelf, biting his nails and muttering quietly to himself. “ _But I’m not sure if he is.”_

Black and green slithers out his tongue to taste the air. _“Woah,”_ he says. _“That’s a lot of worry for someone so small.”_

“Ron?” Harry calls. “You okay there?”

Ron immediately matches his gaze with Harry’s and makes his way towards him. “I’m… okay,” the ginger haired male twists his fingers into the bottom of his jumper. “It’s just that I’ve built this image of you inside my head.” He lowers his voice. “I mean, you’re Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived. You’re famous! And I’ve finally gotten to meet you and you’re nothing like the books said you would be.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “You’re hair’s pink and you can talk to snakes and you don’t know anything about the wizarding world. It’s scary, but it’s you. And somehow that’s better than what I expected.”

Harry swells with emotion. He’s so, _so_ happy. His chest feels tight and his eyes feel sort of wet, but he blinks away his unshed tears and gives a blinding smile. “Thanks Ron. That means a lot to me.” He murmurs. 

Flushing, Ron mumbles out words Harry can’t quit make out.

“ _Let me nuzzle him!”_ Black and green hisses from Harry’s shoulder. _“Please, please, please, please, please—“_

Ron’s gaze lands onto the hissing snake, his eyes widen as he quickly takes several steps back. He must have momentarily forgotten about Harry’s new companions.

“ _No, no, no, no. Don’t be afraid of me, I just want to nuzzle you as a thanks—“_

“He just wants to thank you,” Harry explains. “And… nuzzle you?” He trails off unsurely.

“N-nuzzle me?” Ron squeaks out. 

“Yeah,” Harry softens his grin into a smile and slowly raises Black and Green towards Ron. The orangette stands still, shoulders tense and expression grim. Black and Green bumps it’s head into Ron’s cheek and then nuzzles against it, hissing softly.

Ron’s blush returns tenfold, likely in embarrassment. His shoulders relax. He even tentatively raises a hand and careful pets the snakes little head. “He’s not so bad,” Ron mutters. “Kinda cute.”

Black and green preens at the compliment when Harry translates for him. 

“ _Ugh,_ ” Red and yellow voices from Harry’s other shoulder. With a laugh, Harry pets her and tells her how pretty her scales are. She hides underneath his sleeve again and doesn’t come back out.

Harry idly wonders if she’s embarrassed too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and the kudos :)
> 
> ++++  
> black and green: OOooooOOOO F R I E N D OOOOO NUZZLE  
> red and orange: look at this fucking idiot i am disowning u rn   
> harry: :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six:**

In the early morning light, Harry is sprawled over his bed on his stomach. His chin is placed in the palm of his hand and his green eyes are lazily peering down at a small, but thick book. It’s an old thing, with wrinkled and yellow-y pages that are filled with names and their meanings. His hair is back to its normal dark colour, which is a weird relief. Harry’s snakes are arguing just ahead of him, circling around each other on the dark brown carpet.

“ _Master likes me better,”_ Black and Green declares.

 _“Yeah? Well Master said my scales are beautiful,”_ Red and Yellow raises her head a little higher, she makes the snake equivalent sound to a _‘hmph.’_

 _“W-well Master thinks I’m funny!”_ Black and Green hurries to add, stumbling over his words. 

Harry laughs at the two quietly and returns his attention back to the book. He skims over a few names before he stumbles upon ‘Nimmy.’ It’s Hindi and apparently means friend of fire. Harry thinks it’s a good enough name for Red and Yellow. Her scales are red and yellow and her eyes are a weird mix between bright orange and neon yellow. Her colours scream Gryffindor. Her attitude on the other hand, screams Slytherin. The phrase ‘a wolf in sheep’s clothing’ comes to mind. It makes Harry grin. 

_“What about Nimmy?”_ He asks, slipping into parseltongue. 

The two snakes stop bickering and both raise their heads towards him. _“Nimmy?”_ They chorus. 

_“Yeah.”_ Harry says and nods towards Red and Yellow. _“For you.”_ He elaborates. _“It means friend of fire.”_

 _“Friend of—”_ Black and Green cuts himself off with an obnoxious laugh. He falls backwards onto his back, showcasing off his green belly as he wiggles on the carpet in hissy laughter. His colours matched Slytherin so well and yet he acted like such a Gryffindor. 

Nimmy coils and sways her head from side to side, like she’s readying herself for an attack. She unhinges her jaw, fangs flashing from the sunlight pooling I’m from the window. 

_“Nimmy!”_ Harry calls in a warning tone.

Immediately the Red and Yellow snake snaps her jaw shut and lowers herself to the carpet. She flickers her tongue out, tastes the disappointment floating through the air from her Master and curls into herself. The snake even goes as far as to hide her face into her scales. 

Harry turns his gaze towards Black and Green. “ _And you,”_ he starts off, “ _shouldn’t be laughing at your sister like that.”_

Black and Green flickers his own tongue out and then curls into himself, lowering his head against his scales. _“Sorry Master,”_ he apologises, _“sorry Nimmy.”_ He then hesitantly slithers closer to Nimmy and nuzzles his face against the back of the females head. He pulls away when Nimmy raises her head. 

She hisses out a quiet, _“idiot,”_ and nuzzles her snout against her brothers. 

_“Besides,”_ Harry peers down at his book and quickly thumbs through it, an amused smile gracing his lips, “ _your name isn’t all that better.”_

Nimmy flicks his tail behind her. “ _That isn’t much of a surprise, Master.”_

Snorting, Harry decides to name Black and Green after the first name he sees once he turns to one of the end pages. _“It’s Verde,”_ he says, _“means green.”_

 _“But Master!”_ Verde whines. “ _That’s boring!”_

Closing the book, Harry gives an impish grin. _“It’s too late to look for another name now, Verde. I’ve already closed the book and I’m too tired to open it again.”_

Nimmy laughs. _“The correct word to use, Master, would be lazy. You’re too lazy to open it again.”_

Harry supposes she’s right. 

With only a few days left before the first term starts, Harry walks down Diagon Alley, going from one shop to another. He buys a set of cauldrons, two potion kits, the books he’ll be needing for his first year and even stops by the Owl Emporium to pick up Hedwig. “Hello beautiful,” Harry murmurs softly as he strokes her white feathers. He tries not to cry as she hoots at him and then takes flight, going to Harry’s room in a shady place down in Knockturn Alley. 

Harry had stayed at the Leaky Cauldron as long as he could without Tom, the bartender, getting suspicious. It had lasted a week before Harry broke down under Tom’s narrowed gaze and concerned questions before he had just upped and left. After that he had took a walk down Knockturn Alley, hair bright and bubbly, atrocious and pink and got himself a room in an old inn run by a woman of the name ‘Cynthia.’ She didn’t ask questions, just took one look at the arguing snakes around his throat, took his money and gave him a room. Harry was very thankful. The room wasn’t as clean as the one in the Leaky Cauldron, but it was a lot better than his little cupboard. He still had a bed, a wardrobe, lots of space to move around and most importantly, secrecy.

Humming, Harry enters Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. He settles his shopping bangs on a nearby seating area and beams when he hears a delighted, “Mr Potter! Welcome back.”

Harry turns around to greet Madam Malkin. “Hello,” he says, tone shy of amused. “How has your day been so far?” 

The woman doesn’t seem to mind, because she grins herself. “Oh, it had been wonderful. I’ve had many customers today, you see.” She replies. Today, her hair is covered in feathers of all colours and once again, her wand is tucked behind her ear. “And Oh! You look splendid!” Madam Malkin gushes, once she eyes him over.

Blushing, Harry runs his fingers down his dark green sweater. It hangs lowly off his shoulders and it’s ever so soft. He had paired it with black jeans, that he had asked Madam Malkin to make a few days prior, and a pair of high converse that he had bought out in muggle London. He had sneaked past Tom in the Leaky Cauldron not long ago to buy them. “Thank you,” Harry says earnestly.

With a coo, Madam Malkin ushers him towards her desk, “I’ve got your robes and your custom clothes ready, I’ll be right back Mr. Potter.” She flashes him another grin and then disappears behind the curtains.

 _“She’s always so chatty.”_ Nimmy voices from where she’s curled around the right side of Harry’s neck, head laid gently over his collar bones.

 _“She’s nice though,”_ Harry says quietly. _“And she hasn’t given away my location to any media or Dumbledore, for that matter.”_

 _“Do you trust her, Master?”_ Verde questions from where he’s curled around Harry’s neck on the left side, his head laid gently over bony collarbones.

 _“I guess,”_ Harry answers. _“It’s not like she has a reason to betray my trust in her—“_

A series of soft noises, like a ‘thud,’ sound just behind Harry and cut him off. Raising a brow, Harry turns around only to come face to face with three familiar blondes with the same silvery grey eyes.

The Malfoy's.

Draco is staring at him with wide eyes, hands awkwardly held out in front of him, like he had dropped something and tried to catch it. Narcissa is stood behind him, her eyebrows are slowly trailing higher and higher up her forehead. Lucius on the other hand, looks like everything he had fought for had just slipped between his fingers.

Lowering his line of sight, Harry eyes the many dress boxes that are littered across the plush carpet. Most of them are half open, showcasing a variety of rich materials. _Ah, so that’s what Draco had dropped_.

Harry raises his gaze back up. “It’s the hair, isn’t it?” He smiles. “People are always having different reactions towards it.” 

Internally, Harry screams a series of _fuck, fuck, fuck._

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! we’re nearly at 200 kudos, this is very exciting! on a side note, i am very, and i mean very, very, i can’t stress this enough, VERY ill. It took me a fair amount of time (a lot longer than unusual) to type this up. but I’m glad i did tbh. anyways, thank you all for the support!
> 
> ((Also. Let’s be very honest here. If this were canon and Harry had met Nimmy, he would have probably named her Godrica after Godric Gryffindor because of her colours. Smh.))
> 
> ++++  
> harry: *squints at red and orange* hmmmm.... ah! i know what ill call you! godrica!
> 
> red and orange: *turns to green and black* suffocate me. please. just end me.
> 
> green and black: o-o


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven:**

Narcissa is the quickest to school her shock into an emotionless facade. “It’s most certainly is the… hair.” She gives a forced smile, small and sharp. It makes the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand to attention. “Forgive us.” Narcissa lowers her head into a barely there bow, a mockery of a real one. “It’s not everyday that we’re met with such a … daring hair colour.” 

“Yes,” Lucius agrees, curling his lips in distaste as he eyes Harry up and down with a critical eye. His gaze stops on Nimmy and Verde. “It’s daring, indeed.” 

_“Master, you smell anxious.”_ Nimmy voices her worry. She raises her little head and bumps it against Harry’s cheek in a show of reassurance. Harry exhales a long, drawn out breath. He’s fucked. Here he was speaking in parseltongue and now he was fucking caught. _Great going Harry,_ he snides at himself internally, _now they know and you’re gonna have to kill yourself again cause you’re a god damn idiot._

Verde seems to sense his want of offing himself because he unhinges his jaw and snaps it warningly at the Malfoy’s. Draco visibly flinches. “ _Enemies.”_ Verde hisses, fangs glinting. 

_“Verde!”_ Harry warns and hurriedly pushes the snake back against his neck. _“Not in public!”_

 _“Oh? So I can hurt them behind closed doors? Is that what you’re saying Master?”_ Verde flicks out his tongue against the hollow of Harry’s throat. “ _If_ _they hurt you Master, I’ll hurt them back.”_

Flushing, Harry drops down to the plush carpet and starts closing the dress boxes and piling them upon one another. _“That isn’t what I meant,”_ he mutters.

“Sorry,” Harry says, switching back to English. He sort of realises he doesn’t quite give a damn. Let them know. Let Dumbledore worry his ass over the small things when he finds out. Let the Malfoy’s think whatever they want. “Verde’s a little protective sometimes.” Harry hauls himself up and holds out the dress boxes to a wide eyed Draco. 

Lucius clears his throat and settles his hand onto his son’s shoulder. It must have been some sort of coded message because Draco schools his features the same way Narcissa had moments ago and takes the dress boxes from Harry’s hands. “Thank you,” he says, dipping his head into a small nod. 

_“Don’t be fooled, they smell of confusion._ ” Nimmy comments.

 _“And fear.”_ Verde adds gleefully. 

_“Gee,”_ Harry mumbles, _“I can only wonder why.”_

Madam Malkin tumbles out from between the curtains, a handful of colourful bags floating above her head. “Sorry for the long wait Mr. Potter, I couldn’t quite find all the robes you wanted.” She smiles and lowers the bags onto her desk. 

Harry turns around to give her a very, very grateful look. _My saviour,_ he thinks. “It’s alright,” He mirrors her smile and pulls out a pouch filled with money. “There’s a little extra,” he says, placing it in front of Madam Malkin, “for all your hard work.” 

A blush covers the females cheeks, her smile widening. “Oh, you didn’t have to. Thank you though.” Madam Malkin flickers her line of sight over Harry’s shoulders by chance. When she realises who exactly is stood behind Harry, her smile doesn’t quite reach the corners of her eyes anymore. “Mr. Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, Heir Malfoy,” she greets quietly, lowering her head in a show of a bow. It’s not the mocking one, not like the one that Narcissa had given Harry. 

Sensing some weird-ass power play, Harry ducks his head, grabs all his bags (even the ones he had placed on the seating area before) and leaves before anyone can stop him. He hopes Madam Malkin understands. After a while of walking, he decides his long awaited arrival at Ollivander’s is up. With a sigh, Harry enters the old, dusty shop. Within moments of eyeing all the wand boxes, which are mostly covered in cobwebs, Ollivander strides somewhere from the back of the shop to stand behind his desk. 

He stares at Harry with his peculiar eyes, they’re sort of misty, filled with some odd type of haze. Luna had usually stared at him the same way. 

Clearing his throat, Harry utters a small, “Hello.” 

“Mr. Potter,” Mr Ollivander blinks the haze in his eyes away and starts talking. He mentions Lily and James, which brings a bittersweet taste to Harry’s mouth. His mum had been great, but his father… he had been a bully. And that hurt. When Harry finally wraps his hand around his wand and a familiar warmth shoots throughout his body, he releases a relieved sigh. He’s just glad to have it back. Unfortunately, he knows what’s next. The speech. 

“Curious.... Very curious…” Mr. Ollivander trails off. His eyes are now sharp and clear. 

“What’s curious?” Harry asks, pocketing his wand. 

With a tilt of his head, Ollivander answers in a quiet, soft voice. “I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. And it just so happens that the phoenix, whose tail feather resides in your wand, gave another feather. Just one other. It is curious that you should be destined for this wand, when its brother gave you that scar.”

Feeling his stomach churn, Harry opens his mouth to ask the same question he had many, many years ago. “And who owned that wand?”

“We do not speak his name. The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter. It's not always clear why. But,” the wand maker pauses, “I think it is clear that we can expect great things from you, Mr Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things also. Terrible, yes... but great.”

Straightening his back, Harry pays for his wand with a forced smile and leaves.

He’s not Voldemort.

He’s not some golden boy.

He’s not some tool to be used for the war.

He’s not the boy-who-lived.

No. Not anymore.

Harry’s going to take matters into his own hands.

He’s going to tell fate to go screw herself.

Consequences be damned. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh. my. merlin.  
> Nearly 300 kudos and over 2000 hits. thank you all so much!! also, i wrote this high off my meds. so if this doesn’t quite make sense or is weirdly paced, im sorry. on a side note, happy New Years!!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look! its finally chapter eight.

**Chapter Eight:**

Well, Harry _had_ said _consequences be damned._

He just didn’t think it would apply _so_ soon. 

Platform nine and three quarters is as full as ever. Students are running around. Family’s are saying their last, teary goodbyes for the semester. Familiars are noisily hooting in their cages, meowing as they easily run between people's legs and croak as they jump around with their human counterparts running after them. There's a black raven perched on someone's shoulder, a large spider is locked in a small cage and even graceful like rats with high intelligence in their eyes are held in hands like prized possessions. Harry even spots a white and purple scaled lizard wrapped around a Ravenclaw's neck from the corner of his eye. 

Unfortunately, his main attention is held on Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy — who are both stood in front of him, arguing. Ron had spotted Harry from afar and came tumbling forward, blushing as he asked how Harry had gotten his hair black. At the same time, Draco had showed up out of nowhere, sticking out his hand and introducing himself with an air of superiority. Sighing, Harry tries to analyse the situation. The Malfoys are stood somewhere further to Harry’s right. He can just about see them if he turns his head. Lucius’s gaze is narrowed and his grip is tight on his cane. Narcissa is stood beside him, hand on his shoulder in some silent show of support. Harry doesn’t buy it for one second. The Weasley’s on the other hand are actually out of sight, but not out of hearing range. Harry had heard the twins mucking about not long ago and Molly had screamed their ears off. They were probably close too. 

While Ron’s friendship (somewhat, arguably) was pure of heart, Draco’s was probably forced by his parents.

It didn’t matter. Harry was lonely anyways. 

“Let me see,” Draco curls his lips in distaste, eyeing Ron up and down. “Red hair and hand-me-down clothes? You must be a Weasley.” 

Ron puffs out his cheeks in defiance. Harry thinks it’s kind of cute when he does that. “At least I’m no bleached blonde,” he mutters lowly. 

Hiding a laugh behind a cough, Harry awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. As nostalgic and normal as it is to see the two arguing, Harry is tired. Really tired. And honestly, he doesn’t want to go through Hogwarts with having to look behind his back every few minutes because of Draco. Or anyone else for that matter. Why couldn’t they all just go through Hogwarts like some good friends? Great friends even? The best of friends actually? 

Having decided what he wants, Harry grabs Ron and Draco by the ears. At once, their arguing ceases and turns into a chorus of _“ow, ow, ow’s._ ”

Putting on his most displeased frown, Harry waits for the two to quiet down. When they do, he opens his mouth to softly say, “If you don’t stop arguing, then neither of you will get to sit with me on the train.” He then releases their ears and places his hands on his hips, much like Molly used to do when she was telling her kids off. 

“Sorry.” Ron apologises, rubbing at his ear. There’s an embarrassed flush to his cheeks that highlights his freckles prettily. 

For a moment, Draco looks awe struck at the sight and then he’s shaking his head from side to side as if to clear his thoughts. “I apologise also,” he says. 

_“What’s this? What’s this? I smell embarrassment.”_ Verde pokes his little head out from underneath Harry’s robes, nuzzling it against the underside of his master's jaw. When he spots Ron he visibly perks up. _“Oh! It's the cute one! I want to nuzzle him again. Master, please. Please, please, please—”_

 _“Alright,”_ Harry cuts Verde off with a sigh. “Here,” he says, holding out the black and green snake to Ron. “Verde says he misses you.”

Ron’s cheeks darken further. “Oh, um,” he fumbles as he carefully takes Verde into his own hands, the tips of his ears turning red when Verde bumps his head against his cheek and then nuzzles into him. 

Draco looks positively confused and… jealous? Harry isn’t too sure. 

“Anyways,” he says, gently placing his fingers over his right collarbone to check for Nimmy, she’s still there, asleep. “We should get on the train and get a good compartment while we still can.” 

As soon as they get onto the train, Harry makes a beeline for the first empty compartment he sees. He sits beside the window, Ron sits opposite him and Draco sits on the same side, closer to the now closed doors. Soon the train leaves the station with a loud whistle and makes a steadily increasing chugging sound.

The three talk civilly, for the most part. There are a few moments where Draco’s haughtiness shines through and a few times where Ron mutters something childish under his breath but other than that, it’s… surprisingly peaceful. Verde stays around Ron’s neck and occasional raises his little snout to nuzzle against the Weasley’s cheek or to flick his tongue against the hollow of his throat in a possessive manner. He even hisses quiet threats at Draco whenever the blonde so much as shifts. Harry thinks Verde might have a favourite. 

“So,” Draco shifts his gaze from the black and green snake around Ron’s throat to Harry beside the window, “Do you have any other familiars?” He asks.

“I do.” Harry answers. “An owl. She’s pretty. Snow White, you know? Her names Hedwig.” 

Draco makes a humming sound. “I have an eagle,” he says, twisting his nose, “he’s a bit… eccentric.” 

Ron snorts. “We had one a while back. It was an old one. It’s ego was too big and it wouldn’t listen to anyone, so we set it free.”

Quirking a brow, Draco returns his line of sight towards Ron. “You set it free?” He questions. The blonde then makes a mournful face, “I wish I could do the same.”

Afterwards, the woman with the sweet trolley shows up. Harry makes sure to buy enough for the three of them. Draco looks a little surprised as he thanks him. Ron mumbles his thanks with red ears and takes to eating some little square chocolates that Harry doesn’t know the name of. When Harry gets Dumbledore’s card from the chocolate frog, he crumples it and throws it amongst the pile of sweet wrappers. He feels sudden anger and frustration he can’t quite explain.

Actually he can.

Because Dumbledore was always spewing half truths and half lies.

And Harry wouldn’t listen to him this time.

No, he wouldn’t.

“That was Dumbledore.” Draco states, voice quiet. His silver eyes are trained on the crumpled up card.

“Yeah,” Harry pulls a leg up to his chest and balances his arm along his bony knee. “He’s not exactly in my good books.”

“H-he isn’t?” Ron stutters out. His brown eyes are filled with worry and his brows are furrowed in confusion.

“He’s kind of…” Harry pauses as he flickers his gaze to Draco. If they’re going to be the best of friends, Harry’s going to have to put more trust into him. “He’s kind of the reason why I didn’t know anything about the Wizarding world.”

Ron lets out a small “ _Oh_ ,” and Draco makes a scandalised “ _What?”_ at the same time _._

 _“What’s with all the noise?”_ Nimmy lazily raises herself from Harry’s collarbone. She makes a sound equivalent to a human’s yawn and Harry coos at her. While Ron explains Harry’s situation to Draco, Harry holds Nimmy in his hands and pets her red and yellow scales. _“You were asleep for a very long time,”_ he says lowly.

Nimmy wraps herself around Harry’s fingers. _“Were you worried about me, Master?”_ She asks.

Smiling, Harry answers the snake with a fond, _“a little_.”

Opposite him, Draco makes a strangled noise. “I can’t believe this!” He exclaims. “My father will _absolutely_ hear about this.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry but writing “at least im no bleached blonde” had me in hysterics xDDD
> 
> and oh look! harrys making friends and he doesn't care who its with because he had been denied that most of his life and if that aint sad then idk iwhdjehss let me sob in peace---
> 
> mama!harry! is what we need. change my mind? um. no u can't.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like im spoiling all of you with how quickly i update xD on a side note, 400 kudos! yay! thanks a lot guys!

**Chapter Nine:**

A few hours into their train ride and Draco is still seething, silently now, at least. 

Earlier, he had been grumbling under his breath and making promising threats that even had Verde nodding along. Ron had looked a little red at hearing the creative ways that Draco wanted to tell Dumbledore to _shove it,_ but nevertheless he more or less agreed. Ron even mumbled a quiet, “ _I thought he was better than that,”_ which resulted in Draco’s eyes narrowing as he started up a whole other rant. And because of that, Nimmy took a surprising liking to Draco. She insisted on getting closer to the blonde and after reassuring Draco that Nimmy had more control than Verde with her anger, _(which was a lie, but whatever),_ she ended up across the blonde’s lap and looked pretty smug about it. It seemed, that even Nimmy had gained a favourite. 

“Say,” Ron pauses to maneuver Verde from where he’s trying to climb onto the orangette’s head and holds him in his hands instead, “What house do you think you’ll end up in?” 

“Slytherin.” Draco answers instantly. “My family’s been in it for generations.” 

A frown graces Ron’s lips. “Same,” he says, “I can’t imagine being placed anywhere but Gryffindor.” 

With a tilt of his head, Draco shifts so he’s facing Ron fully. “You don’t particularly sound happy about that,” he points out, gently picking Nimmy up and placing her onto his shoulder instead. The red and yellow snake wraps herself around Draco’s neck and gives a content hiss. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ron says, “Gryffindor is great. Really, it is. I just…” He trails of unsurely. With a shake of his head, he mutters a quiet, “Nevermind.”

When Draco furrows his brows and twists his lips into a deep frown, Harry awkwardly clears his throat to stop him from asking a question which could potentially make Ron sad. Instead, he opens his mouth to speak. “I’d actually like to be in Slytherin,” he admits. Ironically, when he says those words, it’s like a bit of weight lifts itself from his shoulders. 

At once, Ron and Draco gawk at him. 

“But, but you’re… _you’re Harry Potter.”_ Draco breathes out, bewildered. 

Harry can’t help but snort. 

About an hour later, Harry comes to realise one tiny, important detail. 

Ron doesn’t have a rat with him. 

_Traitor. Pettigrew. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill—_

Harry gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach the corners of his eyes. He can’t think about Sirius. Not here. Certainly not now. _“Verde,”_ he calls, slipping into parseltongue. _“I need you to stay with Ron until he gets a rat. It’s ugly, missing a toe. Don’t kill it, just… paralyse it.”_

 _“Of course, Master.”_ Verde nods. 

Ron and Draco stare at Harry curiously. 

“I was just telling Verde to stay with Ron until he gets a familiar of his own.” He explains. “Since it looks like you don’t have one yet.”

“Oh, um, thanks.” Ron flushes and ducks his head, nuzzling his cheek carefully against Verde’s black and green scales. “I’ll take good care of him.” He murmurs. 

There’s a sudden hoot at the side of the window which catches the three’s attention. Harry slides the window open and steps to the side as a flurry of white feathers flies in. The coldness of the outside sends shivers running up his spine. 

“Hedwig?” Harry raises a brow as the white owl sits on his shoulder. She gives another hoot and holds out a clawed foot. There’s a small parcel attached to it. 

“Did you order something?” Ron asks, holding Verde closer to his chest.

Going through his recent memories, Harry realises that he had indeed ordered something. A book, actually. “Yeah,” He answers. “I did.” Harry detaches the parcel from Hedwig’s leg and then watches as the owl swoops back outside. He then quickly slides the window closed and sits back in his spot. 

“What is it?” Draco asks.

Harry fiddles with the brown wrapping paper and opens it apart. “I ordered a family tree book,” he says and then quietly adds, “I wanted to see if I had any living family out there.” 

“Maybe you do.” Draco leans closer to peer at the book. “I think we have the same one in our library, but I’ve only looked through it about twice. I don’t remember much of it, if I’m being honest.”

Running his fingers down the simple black cover with a white tree, Harry hums. He then flips it open and thumbs through the pages. They feel soft under the pads of his finger tips. He stops when he gets to the Potter page. There are hoards of names, Hardwin Potter, Henry Potter, Fleamont and Euphumia Potter, Charlus Potter and… Dorea Potter (neé) Black.

“Oh.” Harry blinks. “It says here that my grandmother was a Black.”

“Really?” Draco raises both his eyebrows in wonder.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. And upon further inspection, there’s a Greengrass, a Rowle, a Sayre and also someone by the name of Linfred of Stinchombe. “Here,” Harry says, passing along the book to Draco who grabs it eagerly. “You can have a look through it.”

“Thanks.” Draco mumbles and then starts flipping through the pages with a weird glint in his eyes. Ron shoots closer to the blonde and looks over his shoulder. “What are you looking for?” He asks.

Draco doesn’t answer him. Instead, he stops at a page and grins. It’s not a nice grin either, it’s kind of sharp. It looks odd on Draco’s young face. He places the book onto his lap, points something out to Ron and then moves his finger across the page a few times. Each time, Ron’s face brightens in surprise more and more.

Harry watches as Draco wraps an arm around Ron’s waist and pulls him closer to himself, like personal space suddenly doesn’t seem to matter to him at all. Ron instantly blushes and raises his head, eyes wide in alarm. Draco also raises his head, but now their faces are mere centimetres apart.

Popping an apple flavoured sweet into his mouth, Harry gazes at Draco and Ron with rapt attention. Dear Merlin, those two looked like they were about to kiss.

Draco smoothly tilts his head and moves to talk directly into Ron’s ear. The movement looks so easy, too. He whispers something that has Ron gasping and exclaiming, “Really?”

 _“There’s also a Black in the Weasley family.”_ Nimmy voices quietly from Draco’s neck. _“Two of them actually. And a Crouch,”_ she pauses as she squints her eyes down at the book on Draco’s lap. _“These human letters are always so hard to decipher,”_ She complains. _“There’s also a woman by the name of Yaxley.”_

Harry props his elbow onto the ledge of the window and places his chin into the palm of his hand. Huh. So the Weasley’s, a prominent light family, were related to some dark families as well? That was interesting to know.

The rest of their journey is spent on mindless chatter. They talk about which lessons they’re excited for, which Professors they’ll hope they have and many other things. Eventually they get changed into their robes and before they know it they’re getting herded onto small boats by Hagrid.

It hurts to see him.

But it’s even more painful to see Hermione stood at the side, awkwardly climbing into a boat along with Neville.

“You alright, Potter?” Draco asks, turning back around when he doesn’t feel Harry following after him

“Yeah, _Draco.”_ Harry smiles, “I’m good.”

“It’s cold,” Ron complains once Draco and Harry join him in the boat. He tucks his hands between his knees and hunches his shoulders. “And we’re surrounded by water. It’s making me anxious.”

 _“He certainly smells like it.”_ Verde comments somewhere from underneath Ron’s robes. He’s hiding inside them, trying to keep himself warm.

“It’s okay,” Harry reassures, “the trip shouldn’t be too long.”

“Hopefully,” Draco mutters under his breath.

When Hogwarts comes into view, Harry can’t help but give a content sigh. He’s home. He’s finally back home. Students all around him awe at the sight and whisper amongst each other. Harry helps Ron climb out of the boat and onto the ground. He looks very thankful. The trek up to the castle is oddly silent, like the new students are filled with so much wonder that it’s made them speechless.

The moment Harry steps foot into the castle, warm magic washes over him to welcome him back, almost like a mother would do when her child returned home from playing outside. It felt nice and calmed him down.

Before Harry even knows it, they’re walking into the great hall in pairs. Harry is stood next to some female he doesn’t know the name of and behind him, Draco walks with Ron.

Harry overhears Ron whisper, “What if we have to battle a troll?”

Draco answers him with an amused, “maybe we do.”

It makes Harry give a small laugh. 

One by one, the students are called out by Minerva Mcgonagall. One Hufflepuff here, one Ravenclaw over there, a Gryffindor here and a Slytherin there. On and on it goes, until Hermione Granger is called. The bushy haired girl sits on the stool for a long while, much like she had the first time. Harry waits for the hat to shout Gryffindor, but when it opens its mouth to speak, it releases a yell of, “RAVENCLAW!”

With an open mouth, Harry claps along with the students. What’s going on? Why wasn’t Hermione in Gryffindor? Granted, she would probably do better in Ravenclaw, but _still._ This was confusing. And weird.

After a while, Draco Malloy struts to the front. The hat barely touches his blonde hair before it bellows out a, “SLYTHERIN!”

A few minutes later, Ron hesitantly takes a seat on the stool. The hat is placed onto his ginger hair. Harry sees Ron mouthing words, but he can’t quite make them out. It isn’t really much of a surprise when the hat twists the corners of its supposed mouth and reluctantly yells out, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Harry claps the loudest when Ron gives a blinding smile and happily makes his way towards the table of yellow and black. Somewhere in the back, Harry hears a perfectly timed, “That’s our Ron!” It’s definitely from the twins.

Professor Mcgonagall skims her eyes over her piece of parchment. “Harry Potter,” she voices softly.

Dumbledore leans closer over the high table, peering down at the first years with twinkling eyes.

Harry steps up, ready to overthrow everyone’s game. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, alright. Ravenclaw!Hermione is the thing we need. Hufflepuff!Ron is the sweetest thing and if anyone hurts him then i will kill everyone reading this and then myself. cries. 
> 
> also, at first. i thought “wow maybe i could make all of them Slytherin” and then i was like “naaah.”
> 
> anyways. i know Charlus and Dorea AREN’T harry’s grandparents but like :/// c’mom man, i feel like these two are so much better than Fleamont and Euphumia. idk why. it’s honestly just a better headcanon.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s a filler? ig? idk.

**Chapter Ten:**

_“I can explain,”_ is the first thing that Harry says once the sorting hat is placed over his head. 

For a few seconds, the hat stays silent. And then it laughs, wheezy and incredulous. _“Harry Potter,”_ it breathes out, _“the boy-who-lived. Oh, the irony.”_

Harry rolls his green eyes. _“Very funny,”_ he mutters. 

The sorting hat gives a long, low and thoughtful hum. “ _Though_ _the boy-who-dimensionally-time-travelled is more fitting. On the other hand, it’s quite a mouthful. Perhaps the boy-who-keeps-on-living? The boy-who-can’t-die? The boy-who-leaped-through-time? The boy who—”_

 _“Wait, wait. The boy-who-what? Dimensionally time travelled?”_ Harry cuts in, tone bewildered. _“Is, is that even a thing?”_

 _“My, my… what house to put you in?”_ The hat muses, completely ignoring Harry’s question and averting the conversation in a different direction all together. _“You’re brave, you’re loyal, cleverness is definitely hiding somewhere in there—”_

 _“Rude! And don’t just ignore my question!”_ Harry chimes in. 

_“—And you still have a thirst to prove yourself. Well, you definitely can’t escape your true house this time, Mr. Potter.”_ Pausing, the old hat then announces, “SLYTHERIN!” 

Harry takes the hat off himself and passes it to a surprised Mcgonagall. She takes the hat with shaky fingers and wide eyes, mumbling a barely there, “thank you,” that pierces the booming silence in the great hall. At once, there is awkward but polite clapping from Dumbledore that everyone then reciprocates. There’s even a chorused shout from the Gryffindor table, “We didn’t get Potter! We didn’t get Potter!’’ It makes Harry smile as he makes his way down to the table of green and silver and takes a seat beside Draco.

There are a few others who get sorted after Harry and once that’s done, Dumbledore gives his usual odd speech with a warning. “And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

“Wonderful,” Harry grumbles under his breath, remembering the fiasco that the philosopher’s stone had brought him the first time. Beside him, Draco snorts. 

Dumbledore waves a hand and the tables start piling up with dishes of all sizes. There are main courses and side dishes, chicken and gravy, Yorkshire puddings and sausages, cottage pie and many, many others. Harry spies treacle tart and places two pieces of the fine dessert onto his plate. It might not be the healthy choice, but, well, Harry doesn’t exactly care. 

“Harry Potter in Slytherin,” a girl voices somewhere from Draco’s side. Her black hair is short, touching just the edges of her jawline. Harry thinks her name might be Pansy Parkinson. “What a turn of events.” 

“Not really,” Harry says. He stabs his fork into his cake and then brings it towards his mouth. The treacle tastes like heaven. It’s rich and creamy and makes his taste buds tingle. Harry has a weakness for them. He internally vows that treacle tart is the best dessert he’s ever had. For a few moments, the flavour takes away his worries. 

Before he even knows it, Harry and the other first years are being taken down into their common rooms. The trip down to the dungeons is quiet, but there’s a hiss from Draco’s robes that tells him that Nimmy is cold. The entrance to the common room is located behind a bare stretch of stone wall in the dungeons. The tiny, intricate snake carved into the top left corner is the only thing that separates this wall from many of the other ones down in the dungeons.

“The password is Viper.” The Head Girl announces. Her hair is a dull shade of ginger and her eyes are sunken, with deep purple bruises underneath them. As soon as the password leaves her lips, the stone wall swings open to reveal the Slytherin common room. The Head Boy motions for them to follow in. He too has dull orange hair and sunken eyes. 

Harry and the other first years follow the Head Girl And Head Boy inside. The room is long with rough stone walls and a low ceiling. Greenish lamps hang by chains and a fire cracks under an elaborately carved mantelpiece. There are curved chairs and plush, green sofas. Everything is overlooked by a glass wall that showcases the deep waters of the black lake. 

Once the dorms are pointed out, Harry and the others take themselves up spiral stairs and into long corridors.

Draco stops in front of a door that has his name along with Harry’s and two others carved elegantly in silver against black wood. “We’re in here.” He says. The blonde fixes his expression into one of utter boredom that looks… oddly… er… Pureblood? For the lack of better words. Harry sort of wishes he could pull of the same expression. He peers over Draco’s shoulder to read the other two names. There’s someone by the name of Theodore Nott. Harry doesn’t quite remember him. He does however, remember Blaise Zabini.

With a hum, Harry ushers Draco through the door. Their room is large, with four single poster beds that are spaced out evenly. There are green covers with silver linings, black pillows that are fluffed up to perfection. Each bed has a bedside table, it’s wooden and the same shade of their door. Harry spots his trunk at the end of a bed. It’s beside a single vertical window that goes from the bottom of the carpeted floor to the top of the stone ceiling. It’s like a smaller version of the glass wall in the common room. Harry stares into the darkness of the window but doesn’t see anything.

The next morning, after Harry gets little to no sleep, he heads down with his dorm mates to the common room. Professor Snape is stood by the entrance, handing out papers. The first years schedule, no doubt.

“Let’s hope our first lesson isn’t with the Gryffindors.” Blaise mutters as he shoulders past Harry. Nott follows after him, right at the other males heels.

“I get the feeling that they don’t exactly like me,” Harry grumbles, rubbing his shoulder. Nimmy bumps her little head against his cheek in a show of reassurance from where she’s sat on his shoulder.

“Ignore them,” Draco smoothes out his robes with his hands as they walk. “Only start noticing them when they decide to stop acting like children.”

“Right.” Harry nods. He can’t help but think that Draco is also just a child. Ironic, that he would say such a thing.

“That’s Professor Snape by the way.” Draco adds, voice barely above a whisper as they reach said man. “He’s our head of house.”

“Ah. Malfoy,” Snape greets Draco with a dip of his head. Draco returns the motion and then accepts his schedule from the dark haired Professor. He stands to the side, waiting for Harry.

Snape moves his gaze onto Harry and his dark eyes narrow, flashing with animosity. “Potter,” he says flatly. Harry forces a smile. It’s too big. Too bright. Too fake. But he can’t bring himself to care. He feels as if every inch of his skin is prickling, like he suddenly doesn’t belong in his own skin. Snape raises his gaze ever so slightly and his brows furrow, his lips dipping into a deep scowl.

 _“Master,”_ Nimmy hisses quietly, _“your hair… it’s blue.”_

Confused, Harry reaches for a lock of his hair and tries to pull it forward so he can see it. True to Nimmy’s words, his hair is blue. Pastel and beaming. _“Aw, fuck. I was glad to have my own hair back and now this?”_ He whines. _“And why blue of all colours?”_

 _“If it’s any consolation,”_ Nimmy climbs onto Harry’s head and nestles herself between his colourful hair, _“I think it’s much better than the pink.”_

Snape’s black eyes are wide, unblinking as he stares at Harry. His eyebrows keep raising themselves higher and higher, until they disappear into his hairline. There’s a twitch and an odd curve to his lips that sort of looks like a pained smile. It reminds Harry of Lucius’ reaction to hearing him speak parseltongue. He too looked like everything he had fought for had suddenly slipped through his fingers.

Heaving a sigh, Harry can’t help but ask, “It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

At the side, Draco smothers a laugh into his hand. 

It sort of sounds like he’s choking. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaahhhhhhhhhh  
> i couldn’t sleep so i wrote this instead ://  
> this chapter isn’t as good as the others but meh


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so tired.

**Chapter Eleven:**

“The look on his face was priceless,” Draco grins. There’s a small hop to his steps as they walk towards the great hall, like he’s happy about that particular predicament. His eyes stray to Harry's blue hair. “If you keep surprising everyone like this, it’s going to be one hell of a year.” 

Harry can’t help but sigh. He mutters a quiet, “why couldn’t my hair just stay black?” 

Draco snickers loudly. He quietens down when he spots something or rather _someone_ in the distance. His lips quirk up into a smirk, his whole expression radiating smugness. Harry follows the blondes line of sight, only to see Ron stood at the end of the hallway, fidgeting with his black and yellow robes. 

Amused, Harry halts to a stop and asks, “You feel pretty proud about that, don’t you?” 

Feigning an air of innocence, Draco lifts his head a little higher and stops as well. “Are you trying to imply something?” He asks.

Harry snorts. Internally, he thinks, _only that you like the fact that you influenced Ron enough for him to be in Hufflepuff._ He doesn’t dare to say it out loud, lest Draco get mad. “Nothing,” he answers instead, his voice bordering on teasing. He can’t help but let a smile slip. 

Draco looks like he wants to say something, a remark probably, but he gets suddenly cut off when Ron literally tackles him down to the ground. Harry watches with raised eyebrows as the two fall down. Draco lets out an ‘oof’ as he falls on his arse. Ron falls on top of him, half on the ground and half in the other boys lap. He’s beaming, wide and bright. “Hey,” he greets, out of breath. 

“You’re crazy.” Draco says, grey eyes wide as he finds his bearings. He tries to shoo Ron off his lap, there’s a scowl on his lips and a red tint to his cheeks. “You can’t just—”

“Thank you,” Ron interrupts, voice sincere and expression soft as he places his hand over the Hufflepuff logo on his robes. There are crinkles beside his brown eyes and a warmth in his smile. 

Draco just stares at him dumbly, completely caught off guard.

Harry feels like he’s interrupting a moment again. Here he was, the boy-who-third-wheeled. Clearing his throat, Harry catches both Ron’s and Draco’s attention simultaneously. “Are you two done?” He asks. “There’s treacle tart waiting for me and I don’t want to be held up any longer by your, er, _thing._ ” 

At once, the boys on the floor turn red. 

A little later, while Harry enjoys his morning share of treacle tart, Draco refuses to make eye contact with him whenever he talks. Nimmy tells him it’s because he’s embarrassed. Harry’s grin is wolfish when he points it out to Draco and the blonde splutters over his words. He denies anything and everything. Harry isn’t even surprised. He isn’t surprised by the wide eyed stares other students send his way either. His blue hair is making everyone take a double take. 

Their first lesson turns out to be Transfiguration. A simple turn this matchstick into a needle and then vice versa. Harry does his on the first try and then feels guilty when the rest of the class doesn’t quite get it. Draco, who’s sitting beside him, has turned his match into only half a needle. There’s a dip between his blonde brows and a concentrating curl to his lips. Harry’s green eyes wander around the room until they stop on Hermione. She’s getting praised by Mcgonagall. It’s not a surprise to know that Hermione has also turned her match into a needle on her first try. There’s a small smile on her lips, pleased but polite. Her eyes on the other hand, have a weird sort of… hunger in them. Like she’s not quite satisfied. Harry watches her for the rest of the lesson. 

Charms with Professor Flitwick is spent trying to make a feather float. This time, Harry waits until Hermione is the first one to make hers float before he makes his own fly gently over his head. Draco’s own feather stays level with his eyes but doesn’t move any higher. Ron, who’s sat behind Hermione, can only get his feather to lift itself a mere inch of the desk. He mumbles something quietly to himself and slumps his shoulders in defeat. 

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione says just loudly enough for Harry to overhear, “it’s leviOsa not leviosA.” 

Huffing out a puff of air, Ron waves his wand and pronounces the spell the right way. His feather shoots up towards the ceiling, way past any others in the room. Ron stares after it in awe, positivity beaming. Hermione stares at Ron with narrowed eyes and a clenched fist. 

Harry merely observes. 

During history of magic, Harry takes a well-deserved nap. He had been up all night after all. Flashes of red eyes and a cunning smile were all that he could see every time he closed his eyes, but now, it’s nothing. Just darkness. He wakes up when Nimmy nudges him awake with her snout and tells him there’s a mere five minutes left. He spends those last few minutes stroking her red and yellow scales, gaze held on Verde who’s nestled in Ron’s orange hair just a few seats ahead. The green and black snake is hissing quietly to himself, something about nosy rabbits and whatnot. Harry will have to ask him later about it. 

In Defence against the Dark Arts, Harry along with the rest of the class fail to keep up with the stuttering Quirrell. Taking the notes that he can, Harry idly wonders about Voldemort. You see, Harry has a disease he can’t quite get rid off. It’s called a saving people thing. No matter how much Harry tries not to give a fuck and forget about eveything, the saviour in him just… comes out. He knows he shouldn’t be helping Voldemort. That noseless asshat had killed his parents after all. And would eventually kill even more. Worrying his bottom lip, Harry absentmindedly caresses his scar. There’s a gentle hum, like a quiet pulse, but other than that there’s nothing. Smiling, Harry muses over giving Voldemort the philosopher’s stone. 

Pausing, Harry stills his quill over his parchment. 

Hang on. 

What would happen if Harry _did_ give Voldy the philosopher’s stone? Chaos, undoubtedly. With his potter luck, probably even an earlier War. Feeling his smile grow, Harry goes back to writing notes and plotting demise. 

He avoids making eye contact with Quirrell during the lesson, even when his voice slowly starts evening out and lowers into a tone Harry knows all too well. He ignores the shiver it sends running down his spine and the fiery anticipation it burns through his veins. It lasts for a whole minute before Quirrell goes back to stuttering. 

The weird feeling that settles over Harry’s chest doesn’t leave him until much later. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok. but. chaosmaker!harry! is a thing now. also  
> soft!ron and knowledgehungry!hermione! is my new kink. 
> 
> ((on a side note i just want to thank everyone who went to support this fic on wattpad as well! — i may or may not have tried to dye my hair pink and now I’m ginger :)))


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve:**

Maybe using his knowledge from the Half-Blood Prince book was a bad idea. But, well, Harry really just couldn’t find any fucks to give. Besides, it was fun to watch a dip form between Snape’s brows and his lips to thin as he overlooked Harry’s potion. He’d make this weird noise, a mix between a grunt and a sigh and then he’d stare at Harry from behind his desk with his hands steepled underneath his chin. Almost like he was on edge. He’d occasionally ask questions, which in fact only fourth years and up would know the answers to (perhaps Hermione did too, but Harry wouldn’t know. He’s not talked to her yet) and Harry would simply pretend he didn’t know. He’d shrug his shoulders and watch as silent frustration built itself behind Snape’s dark eyes. 

Sometime later, Snape finally caves in and asks why Harry is crushing instead of slicing. It’s a simple potion, all first year potions are simple, actually. Harry just likes to complicate his own and everyone else's lives. “I’m not sure,” he answers quietly, watching the mint green potion swirl in his cauldron. “It just feels right, is all.” 

Snape doesn’t bother with asking him anymore questions. He doesn’t stop staring though. Especially when Nimmy and Verde are in his class as well. Nimmy isn’t all that chatty during lessons, but Verde likes to sing songs that he’s overheard from Ron. Snape is always telling Harry off for it. It’s kind of funny actually, because it seems like Snape (along with Draco and Ron) is the only one that doesn’t tense around his familiars and run for the hills. There is, however, always a crease above his furrowed brows whenever he spots Nimmy lounged over Harry’s textbook or Verde nestled in Ron’s orange hair. 

Harry calls it a win. 

Nimmy says she doesn’t quite agree. 

The next few weeks are spent normally. Harry goes to his lessons, visits Hedwig in the schools owlery, spends his time in the library and generally acts as a safe zone between Draco and Ron. Draco’s still a little… well, _Draco._ Everytime Draco so much as says something a little _off_ or mean or snobbish, Ron’s face falls and he looks like he had been given a puppy and then denied to be let to pet it. The incident is usually followed by Ron keeping a safe distance and Draco whining about it to Harry at breakfast, lunch and tea.

This time it isn’t any different.

“...and he knows I didn’t really mean it.” Draco sighs dramatically, leaning his chin into the palm of his hand. He uses his other hand to absentmindedly swirl his spoon through his chicken soup. 

Harry makes a little humming sound, Draco’s words going in one ear and out the other. He’s too busy enjoying his afternoon portion of treacle tart. It’s absolutely perfect. Top notch. 

“—arry! Harry! Are you even listening to me?”

Blinking, Harry pauses mid bite and turns to a grouchy looking Draco. He raises a brow in silent question. 

“Nevermind.” Draco shakes his head, “I don’t want to know.” He then shoves his soup away and stands to his feet. With a grumble, he turns and leaves. 

“Where’s he off to, again?” Daphne Greengrass asks from Harry’s left. She pushes a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear and frowns.

Pansy Parkinson rolls her eyes from the right. “Oh please,” she blows out a puff of air to move her fringe out of her eyes, “he’s obviously going to go see his _boyfriend_.” 

“Oh, you know?” Harry tilts his head to the side. “Granted, it’s obvious. I just didn’t think anyone of us would voice it.” He reaches for another treacle tart, ignoring the strangled noise Greengrass makes. 

Parkinson cackles and catches the attention of a few other Slytherin students. 

“What’s so funny?” Theodore Nott turns towards them with curiosity. 

Parkinson gives a predatory grin. “We’re just talking about Malfoy and his—”

“Boyfriend,” Nott cuts in and turns his line of sight towards the ceiling with a deep sigh. “It’s always Weasley this and Weasley that.”

“Can’t wait for the wedding,” Blaise Zabine mutters into his goblet. There’s a hint of seriousness to his words that has their side of the table falling to silence. 

Greengrass clears her throat. “They can’t,” she says, her frown deepening, “Malfoy is to wed my younger sister.” There’s a particular finality to her words that has Harry stabbing his fork into his treacle tart with a scowl.

“I wouldn’t worry about it Potter,” Parkinson shuffles closer to him, placing her elbow against his own on the table, “there’s many ways to get little Astoria out of the picture.” 

“Maybe you should ask Zabini,” Tracy Davis says quietly from behind her thick tome, “his mother’s a black widow, after all.”

Parkinson gives a cruel snicker and hides her face into her hands to smother her laughter. 

Zabini merely narrows his eyes, lips falling into a thin, displeased line. 

Smiling, Harry can’t help but think the baby death eaters are starting to warm up to him. Or maybe he’s just imagining it. Either way, it doesn’t seem _that_ bad. 

Later, after double Charms and a game of _‘how many times can I roll my eyes before Draco grabs Ron by the shoulders and professes his love to him,’_ Harry sets off towards the owlery. 

“Hello, beautiful.” Harry can’t help but grin as he strokes Hedwig's soft feathers. The owl nips at his dark hair affectionately and gives a hoot or two. “I know, I know,” Harry murmurs, pressing his face into his familiars white coat, “I promise you’ll get to fly with letters real soon. I have a pen pal in mind. You’ll have to be careful though, he’s got a few anger issues.” 

That night Harry dreams of Sirius falling through the veil. He dreams of Pettigrew cutting of his own arm. And when Cedric crawls out of the cauldron instead of Voldermort, Harry wakes up with a start. His skin feels clammy and his heart is thundering behind his ribcage, his breaths are quick and short, loud to his own ears. There’s a lump in the back of his throat. Harry eyes the drapes obscuring his bed with distrust. 

_“Master?”_ Nimmy raises her little head from her side of the pillow. The tone of her voice is worried. 

Flinching, Harry forces his nerves to calm down. He forces his heart to not beat so quickly, or at least he tries to, it only ends with his chest clenching and aching painfully. _“Fine,”_ he fumbles with the bed covers, wrapping his fingers tightly into the silky material for some sort of purchase. _“I’m fine.”_

He doesn’t sleep. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady on his dark drapes. He feels like there might be death eaters lurking in the curves and dips of the drapes, waiting for Harry to fall asleep just so that they can kill him.

Harry doesn’t shake the feeling away, not even when he sits down for breakfast the next morning. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” Draco asks, words quiet and careful. He leans closer, ducking his head to get a better view of his friend. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out after realising that he had actually paused to think about it. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “I’m fine,” he nods. 

Draco doesn’t look the bit convinced. “If you say so.” 

Whatever. 

Harry doesn’t care about his nightmares. He cares about getting Sirius out of Azkaban, about somehow making Hermione his friend again, about getting the philosopher’s stone and literary giving it to Voldemort so he can achieve his dream of immortality and stop bitching about it. 

It might take a while, but Harry’s already chosen what he wants. There’s no stopping him now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a job now. soooo.... Yeah. updates might not be as quick as before, sorry guys ://


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen:**

Giving the philosopher's stone to Voldemort seems… oddly easy. In fact, Harry could literally just slip a note to Quirrelmort about it and be on his way. He doesn’t even have to go on some obscure adventure to get the stone. Well, he probably should, considering he’s under Dumbledore’s watch. But then again, Harry doesn’t really give a fuck about the old goat. 

That’s exactly why one cloudy and cold morning, Harry writes his impromptu letter out during DADA. Quirrell is at the front of the class, stumbling across his words and pointing out something on the chalkboard behind him. Ron is swinging his legs underneath the desk beside Harry, humming quietly as he takes notes. Verde and Nimmy are both lounging across the desk, arguing about who’s scales are smoother and prettier. Nimmy seems to be winning. 

Smiling, Harry dips his quill into his ink pot and begins to write. _‘Dear, Voldemort.’_ Pausing, Harry tilts his head to the side in thought and then crosses out the two words. _‘Dear, Tom,’_ he writes instead, _‘the philosophers stone is on third-floor corridor on the right-hand side, under a trap door. It’s unfortunately guarded by a three headed dog. His name is fluffy and if you ignore the sharp fangs he’s sort of cute. Kind of like you.’_ Here, Harry taps the top end of his quill against his bottom lip. He shifts in his seat and leans closer to his desk, hunching across his parchment so it looks like he’s taking notes. Behind him, Draco murmurs something to Parkinson that makes her snort. Hovering his quill above his parchment, Harry continues to write. _‘When you come to the end of the obstacles, you’ll get to an empty room with a mirror. It will only give the stone to someone who wants to find it but not to use it.’_ He underlines the word ‘find’ several times, just in case old Voldy might not quite understand. He signs it with a simple, _‘with love, HP.’_

Harry spends the rest of the lesson drawing little hearts all over the letter, imagining the disgusted face of Quirrelmort as he reads over it. It makes him giddy. 

At the end of the class, Harry makes his way towards the owlery. He could have easily just left the letter on Quirell’s desk without anyone knowing, innocent in its blank envelope. Except, Harry has the gnawing feeling that Hedwig is going to be very upset with him if he doesn't finally give her a letter to fly with. With a sigh, Harry ties the letter around Hedwig’s leg. She hoots at him excitedly, her eyes shining. Harry can’t help but smile. “Alright, girl. Don’t let anyone except V see you.” Hedwig gives him a confirming hoot and then flies off, gracefully tilting out of one of the many windows. 

Apparently Voldemort decides to wait for his hunt for the Philosopher’s stone. He stays at Hogwarts, keeps teaching Defense and every now and then he’ll look towards Harry and his eyes will flash red. It always leaves a thrum of anticipation running through Harry, his scar humming and his stomach fluttering with butterflies. It’s confusing, because he’s used to his scar burning and bleeding and hurting in agony whenever Voldy so much as looks at him. He’s not used to this… weird but pleasant hum. Like he’s happy at the attention Voldemort is giving him. During one of the demonstrations, Voldemort keeps his gaze on him, his voice evens out, lowering into a tone Harry knows all too well and his eyes flash red. It makes Harry swallow dryly, his hair suddenly turning pink. It’s not the usual bubblegum pink that makes you want to claw your eyes out either. This pink is softer, much lighter, more… _something_ Harry refuses to name. Instead of questioning it, he pays it no mind and goes on with his day. By the end of the week, his hair is back to its normal dark colour. 

Halloween arrives rather quickly. Pumpkins are carved with wide smiles, Muggleborns are in their element, there are hoards of sweets and candles are charmed to float above their heads. The Weasley twins explode a glitter bomb in one of the corridors just a day before the feast and the Professors try their hardest to keep everything in one piece. Harry sees McGonagall stalking around the great hall the next day with a serious face, her robes keep changing into bright colours and by the loud laughter from the Gryffindor table, he knows it’s another one of the Weasley twins pranks. Dumbledore gives one of his short speeches, stifling a laugh as McGonagall takes her usual seat and then the Halloween feast is started. 

“Harry,” Ron whispers, voice hesitant. He tugs on the side of Harry’s robes, anxiously biting his bottom lip. He’s sat beside him at the Slytherin table, his yellow robes sticking out in a sea of green and silver. 

“Hmm?” Harry hums, eyeing the pumpkin pie with an unimpressed frown. His usual dose of treacle tart isn’t anywhere in sight. It’s actually quite upsetting. Just because it’s Halloween doesn’t mean that they can switch out all the treacle tart for pumpkin pie. He turns to face Ron with a disappointed sigh.

“Why am I sat here?” Ron mumbles out the words, his cheeks lightly dusting pink in embarrassment. “I should be with the other Hufflepuffs.” 

Feeling the corners of his lips tug into a smirk, Harry moves his line of sight down the Slytherin table. Draco is sat beside Nott and Zabini, his chin is placed in the palm of his hand and he’s gazing at Ron longingly. There had been another lovers quarrel not long ago. Ron had overheard Draco say something rude about his new friends, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. So, for the past few days Ron has been keeping his distance from Draco.

“Because I want you here,” Harry shrugs. He pulls a tray of shortbread biscuits closer to them, figuring they’ll have to take over his treacle tart obsession for the day. He motions for Ron to take one and he does, biting into the soft biscuit and warily eyeing the other students sat around them. 

On Harry’s left, Davis is reading a thick tome, clearly disinterested in her surroundings. Sat beside her, Greengrass is openly glaring at Ron, ignoring whatever her friend is trying to tell her. Crab and Goyle are stuffing their faces with suspiciously orange coloured muffins a few seats lower. On Harry’s right, just a seat away from Ron, Parkinson is blowing a bubble of gum. It pops loudly, sticking to her lips. She licks it off, twirling a lock of her short, black hair between her pale fingers as she waits for something exciting to happen. 

When Harry turns his gaze back to Ron, there are crumbs at the side of his lips. A candle floats just above him, the orange flame sending a warm glow across Ron’s features and brightening his hair momentarily. Harry is wiping away the crumbs before he even knows it. Ron’s lips are very soft under the pad of his thumb. Harry watches as Ron’s brown eyes widen, he blushes right up to the tips of his ears. It’s cute. 

“There,” Harry says, pulling away. 

“Thanks,” Ron mutters weakly, ducking his head to hide his red face. 

It startles a laugh out of Parkinson who bangs her first against the table. Her goblet tips to the side, spilling its contents. She doesn’t seem to care, it only spurs on her laughter.

Raising a brow, Harry chances a glance towards Draco. The blonde looks like a kicked puppy. Zabini pats his back reassuringly and Nott rolls his eyes, mouthing the words, ‘save me.’ 

Harry snorts, hiding his laugh into the palm of his hand. And when Ron looks at him with confusion, he promises to tell him later. 

It’s not until Harry is nestled under his covers, Nimmy asleep on the pillow beside his own, that he realises that he’s forgotten about the anniversary of his parents death. For a few moments, he feels sort of… dislodged from the world, and then he’s throwing off his covers and going through his trunk. 

While Nott is fast asleep, Draco is still up, writing an essay for charms that he had forgotten about. Zabini is checking on his Herbology project, watering it and making sure the soil is wet enough. They both turn to look at him, but Harry ignores them in favour of pulling out a red coloured candle. It smells like apples, nice and sweet. There’s a rune carved professionally into it — it stands for life after death. He places it onto his bedside table and lights it up with a murmured spell. For a few seconds, Harry just watches the candle burn, sat on his knees in front of it. Whatever memories Harry has of his parents, they’re bittersweet at best. He can’t think of anything good to tell them. 

_“Master?”_ Nimmy voices tiredly, coming closer to the edge of the bed. She makes a sound equivalent to a human’s yawn. 

Harry smiles. _“Sorry. Did I wake you up?”_

Nimmy nods her head. Her tongue slithers out to taste the air. _“Are you alright?”_

Instead of answering her, Harry flutters his green eyes closed and holds his hands together in front of his face. He whispers a quiet, “I’ll promise to do better this time,” and then blows out the candle. Gentle smoke rises from the stem, Harry inhales the scent of apples. It’s sort homey. His scar hums, as if in agreement. When he gets back under the covers, Nimmy cuddles up to him as best as she can. 

Harry is very glad when morning comes and neither Draco nor Zabini mention the events of last night. He sits down for breakfast, breathing out a relieved sigh as he finds his usual serving of treacle tart. He digs straight into it, moaning when his taste buds tingle. He’s missed it, the taste of treacle tart. It’s official. Harry doesn’t think he can live without it. Parkinson seems to agree, because she slides her own own portion of treacle tart towards him. “Thanks, Pansy,” Harry grins, green eyes shining. 

“No problem, Po— _Harry._ ” Pansy gives a small smile. 

Greengrass sits down, a furrow between her blonde brows. “Has anyone seen Malfoy?” She asks, looking up and down the table. 

“At the Hufflepuff table,” Davis answers from behind her book. She reaches for her buttered toast blindly and then brings it around her book and towards her mouth, eyes never leaving the text.

Harry blinks and then slowly turns in his seat to take a look. Davis is right. Draco’s silver and green robes stand out in the sea of Hufflepuffs. He’s laughing at something that Ron says, crinkles appearing besides the corners of his grey eyes. Ron beams and says something else that catches Draco off guard. Must have been a compliment or something along the lines of that because he blushes and starts stammering. They look happy. 

Greengrass on the other hand, doesn’t. 

Pansy shuffles closer to Harry, leaning in to whisper, “she looks more sour than a lemon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—  
> basically i have night shifts. sleep deprivation really be reminding me of high school ugh.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sURPRISE SURPRISE--  
> im alive.

**Chapter Fourteen:**

In the library there are soft murmurs and hushed conversations, every few seconds a page is turned over in a book and quills are scratched over parchments. In the corner of the library, tucked between two shelves, Harry sits with his chin placed in the palm of his hand, eyes slowly going over the words in his Astronomy book. Opposite him, Hermione Granger is reading some thick tome about poisonous plants — Neville Longbottom’s doing, no doubt. Those two seemed to be… associates. Friends wasn’t the right word to use for those two. Not yet, anyways. 

Harry has been coming into the library every day for the past two weeks, exactly an hour after all classes have finished. He sits in the corner, joins Hermione in whatever she’s doing, reading, writing, doing homework, sometimes he even takes an impromptu nap, much to the females dismay. They never talk. There’s no greeting, no farewell, no nod of acknowledgement — just silence. Harry isn’t sure what he’s doing, but he knows he’s doing it very, _very_ well.

It's times like these he wishes he wasn't so god damn socially awkward or that Hermione was more open about, well, _anything_ really. It's sort of hypocritical coming from himself -- a pot calling the kettle black type of situation. The silence between them is also starting to slowly but surely kill him. Sighing, Harry pulls out a spare piece of parchment from his bag. He frowns when he notices that he must have left his quill in one of his classes. Placing the parchment over his Astronomy book, he leans across the table and grabs Hermione's quill - she doesn't notice, doesn't even glance up from her book, too absorbed in the tiny printed text -- so Harry taps the end of 'his' quill against his bottom lip in thought. And then it comes to him -- an absurd idea. An idea like no other. 

Grinning, Harry sketches out a cartoonish version of his dear Voldy. He's the epitome of sass, one hand on his hip, the other one held up beside his face, his pointer finger swaying from side to side in a show of 'no.' He's dressed in his usual dark robes that billow and twirl around his legs. Snickering, Harry decides to add some thin but eccentric eyebrows and _oh_ , he mustn't forget the hearts. He finishes it with a sign of his name. He holds back a laugh when he sees the finished piece. It brings a certain warmthness to his being that has him looking down at the parchment with fondness. 

A giddy giggle passes from between his lips. He grabs another parchment and holds the stolen -- ahem, okay, _borrowed_ \-- quill over it, suddenly pausing. The ink drips down onto the yellowish paper and Harry blinks, slow and owlish. _Hold on,_ he internalises. _Hold the fuck on._

Why… why was he feeling all nice and shit… about… about…

Harry crushes the quill between his fingers. The black ink drips across the palm of his hand and he panics. "Ah, fuck," he curses, hurriedly pushing his drawing of Voldemort out of the way, brows furrowed and expression slightly worried. 

"Language," comes Hermione's voice, quiet and disinterested, gaze still held on her tome about poisonous plants. 

For a moment, Harry is still and then he moves, shoulders hunching and lips forming a scowl. "Language," he imitates, making his voice as bored as he can. He's not surprised, per say, he's… glad that Hermione has finally caved and opened her mouth to say something. Of course it would be about Harry's open use of curse words, though. His scowl deepens as he uses his non ink covered hand to stuff Cartoon-Voldy into his bag, out of sight, out of mind. He hopes. 

"I'd rather like that quill back," Hermione's eyes move from left to right, reading the words in her book. " _Fixed."_

Sighing, Harry concentrates his magic on the broken quill, it vibrates for a few seconds and then the broken pieces shift together and the ink runs back inside it. He places it down in front of Hermione, eyeing the way her hands form fists and her teeth bite at her lips in frustration. 

_Bingo_. 

"It's not that hard," Harry says. "All you have to do is concentrate on your magic and instead of letting your wand take over it, take over the magic yourself."

Hermione finally raises her gaze, matching it with Harry's own. "Take over...my magic?" She asks, tone skeptical. "Isn't it already _mine?"_

"Mhhm," Harry hums. "I'm not really sure how to explain it better. It doesn't work the same way for everyone, you just need to find your own way of using wandless magic. Oh, but not everyone can do it nonverbally, so maybe you should start by saying the spell but not using a wand?"

Top lip curling in distastefully, Hermione returns her attention back to her tome, evidently no longer interested in a conversation. 

Smiling, Harry packs up his things, slings his bag over his shoulder and gets to his feet. "I better check up on Ron and Draco, see if they're both still alive. Bye, 'Mione." 

Harry tries his damn hardest not to laugh when he hears the girl choke, surprised and probably flustered.

\----

For Christmas, Harry sends Hermione a book about magical cores. He also adds the first volume of, 'Are We Friends?' if only for a laugh. He gets Draco a new potions kit, filled with obviously illegal ingredients. Ron gets a vintage poster from the Chudley Cannons. Harry even gets a few gifts for his other friends. He gifts Pansy with a nice, silver bracelet that lights up whenever someone talks badly about her behind her back. This way, she'll know exactly who to hex. He gets Blaise a monthly subscription to, _'How to Manage Murder_ .' It's a lovely magazine, fits him quite perfectly actually. Theodore gets an assortment of special Christmas sweets that taste like _shit_ and for Tracey, Harry decides on getting her basic hair clips. To hold back her bangs while she leans over her books and reads. 

Finally, Harry decides on making Greengrass a cute photo of Draco and Ron holding hands as they walk down the corridors. There's a simple, _'Sorry_ ,' written above them in loopy letters.

It's Harry's most finest work to date, if he has to say so himself.

The angry letter he receives on Christmas morning from the girl is something he expects. He barely pays attention to her carefully crafted words -- there's an insult almost in every line. Harry's quite proud of her, actually. He grades her letter with an _A_ and sends it back to her, rumpled. She can obviously do better. A letter from her younger sister on the other hand, isn't something he'd been expecting at all. He lounges across his bed, flat on his stomach with his legs raised behind him, ankles crossed. Except for Nimmy and Verde curled up together on one of his pillows, the bedroom is empty. Draco, Theodore and Blaise had packed whatever they needed and then left to go home for the holidays. 

Humming, Harry reads over the younger Greengrass's letter. Her words are smeared and there are blotches of ink around the parchment, so unlike her sister's. Perhaps the girl had been in a rush to write it? Or maybe she was genuinely a mess when it came to transferring her thoughts onto parchment, just like himself? Smiling, Harry realises the girl hadn't even managed to write a, _'Dear Potter_ ,' simply preferring to jump straight into her musings. 

_'Thank you for the cute picture! Daphne said she didn't like it and ended up throwing it away. I got curious and decided to save it. I've grown slightly attached to it and have perhaps pinned it up in my bedroom._ ' Here she crosses out several lines that Harry can't decipher. _'I know it's rude of me to ask… but could you possibly make dracofallinlovewiththeweasleyquicker?'_

The letter then abruptly ends, almost as if she had been embarrassed to write anymore. Harry burrows his face into his hands and laughs. 

Between dealing with his dear Voldy, trying to befriend Hermione and avoiding Dumbledore… Harry certainly had some free time to speed up the process of Draco falling further in love with Ron and vice versa. He could already imagine the chaos left in his wake - the utter dismay left on some people's faces. It makes him feel all giddy inside. 

_"Master, you smell delighted."_ Nimmy voices, slithering down the pillows and closer to him. _"I'm not sure if I should be glad or worried."_

 _"Worried?"_ Verde shakes his little head from side to side, _"Please. Master knows what he's doing."_ And then quietly, he adds, _"I hope."_

Harry doesn't fall for the jibes, instead he reaches for his other Christmas presents. They're all spread around him. Some of them are neatly wrapped, others not so much. There are extravagant bows and glittering wrapping paper. Harry carefully opens the closest one to him, it's adored in orange polka dots. His heart swells when he peels apart the wrapping paper and sees a Weasley sweater. It's wooly and scratchy, dark green with a silver 'H' on the front. Harry blinks away his tears and quickly slips it on, relishing in the feeling of something _so_ achingly familiar. There's a slip of paper between the wrapping and Harry picks it up, reading over Molly Weasley's neat handwriting.

_'Merry Christmas! Ron said you wouldn't mind a sweater, so I made you one as well. Hope you like it! - Molly Weasley.'_

He does. Harry likes it very much. He awkwardly places the slip of paper onto one of his pillows and moves onto the rest of his gifts. From Hermione, he gets a special quill that apparently makes his chicken scratch look neater, much more readable. Draco gifts him an ever colour changing wand holder -- apparently to match his hair. He rolls his eyes fondly when he sees it. Ron gets him a nice a pair of gloves along with a scarf. His name is stitched into all the items, silvery and lopsided. Harry loves them. 

From Pansy, he gets a large jar of Acid Pops. They all have insults carved into them. Blaise gifts him a subscription to, 'How to Manage Murder,' which Harry finds hilarious. Great minds think alike, after all. Theodore gets him the same assortment of _shit_ sweets and surprisingly, Harry finds a pretty hair clip in his presents as well. It's from Tracey. 

Two snakes curl around each other, one green and one red, their eyes are closed but their tongues are sticking out. Harry pulls his bangs back and clips them to the side. 

_"What do you think?"_ He asks. 

_"Pretty."_ Nimmy and Verde answer simultaneously, not a hint of a lie tracing their voices. 

Harry blushes. _"Shut up,"_ he grumbles. He clears his throat and then goes for his last two presents. Undoubtedly, one is from Dumbledore. He's right, because he opens it and sees the same dumb note as the first time. He scrunches it up between his fingers and throws it across the room, not caring. The invisibility cloak is as soft as ever and Harry sighs, running his fingers up and down the silk like material. He carefully places it to the side and reaches for the last gift. 

It's a small, velvet box.

Curious, he gently pries it open. Inside lays a slip of parchment. And in loopy handwriting Harry knows all too well, the letters spell out a simple, _'thank you.'_

_Voldemort._

Feeling heat prickle at his skin, Harry pushes away the slip of parchment to see what's underneath it. His lips curl into a shaky grin when he finds a splinter of the Philosopher's stone.

That night, Harry sleeps content with the knowledge that he's going to fuck up a lot of people's lives. Voldemort's present stays clutched in his hand. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, i had to work even on a bank holdiay??? i???
> 
> anyways, im so sorry it took so long to write and post! i had to find time between my shift changes to write and perhaps even to look over it. tbh idk what's even written in this chapter, its a mess. just like mwa. on a side note, thank you all so much for the support! im amazed at how patient you all are :)
> 
> ALSO!!!!!  
> i sort of want to write a new hp fanfic? but i have zero time?? idk. if i do I'll let you guys know!
> 
> +++  
> harry: F R I E N D S H I P   
> hermione: p O W E R   
> harry: but its the same thing!!!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCREAMS--

**Chapter Fifteen:**

Harry goes about his next few days in basic and boring fashion. He sleeps in until well after midday, listens to the constant bickering of Nimmy and Verde with a fond smile and somehow obtains an increasing amount of foolishly hand drawn images of Voldemort. They're all unique in their own way, portraying one thing or another about him in an amusing way. Harry has scribbled hearts all around them along with his signature on the corner of the parchment. He has them safely tucked away in the bottom of his trunk -- a secret to be kept from anyone else.

Along with that, Harry has been spending a suspicious amount of time holding a certain velvet box in his hands. He gazes at the red shard of the philosopher's stone inside it for hours on end, holds the box up between his fingers and lets the light hit it at a precise angle. The way the stone lights up and glints the same shade of red as Voldemort's eyes has his chest painfully aching. 

And yet, he can't bring himself to stop doing it. 

" _Master, you're doing it again."_ Nimmy makes the snake equivalent sound to a sigh, as if she's disappointed. She drops her head down into Harry's duvet, her tongue flickering out to taste the air. 

Harry hums, lost in the way the Philosopher's shard changes colour depending on the way that he tilts it. Eventually, he asks, " _Doing what?"_

" _Looking at the stone."_ Nimmy huffs. " _Avoiding eating food."_

" _Not paying enough attention to us,"_ Verde chimes in, slithering up to his sister. _"The owl also brought you another letter. You haven't even spared it a glance yet."_

Blinking, Harry snaps the velvet box closed. He pockets it and turns around in his chair to look at them. _"Hedwig brought me a letter and I didn't even realise?"_

" _Well_ ," Nimmy pauses as she makes herself more comfortable, " _She did nip at you a few times, you just didn't react."_

" _Too enamored by the stone,"_ Verde mutters in disdain.

" _I'm not enamored,"_ Harry is quick to deny. 

If Nimmy could roll her eyes, Harry is certain that she would. " _Fine. Infatuated then. Whatever."_

Ignoring them, Harry turns away from his snakes and uses a tiny bit of his magic to beckon an innocent looking letter towards him from his bedside table. The moment he grasps it, he raises a single brow in silent question. The Malfoy crest sits over the middle of the envelope, silvery and perfect. Harry ruins it by snapping it open. The letter turns out to be an invitation to the Malfoy's annual Yule Ball.

Harry supposes he should go.

Since he's apparently allowed a plus one.

" _So_ ," Harry turns his attention back to his snakes, a grin spreading across his lips, _"I suppose you'd both like to see Draco and Ron?_ " 

At once, both Nimmy and Verde start apologising for getting in the way of his time with the stone. Saying how normal it is. And how very proud of him they are. And how they could never hate him for who he is--

Harry smothers them with nuzzles before they can say anything else. 

" _Sometimes,"_ he murmurs, " _it feels like I have two annoying children. But then I remember that I'm too young to have kids and everything's okay."_

The Malfoy's ball is in less than two days. Harry sends Hermione a letter asking if she'd like to be his plus one. He also sends a letter to Draco saying that if he wants Ron to be at the ball then he's going to have to get him there himself. 

The next day, Harry is awoken by Verde and forced to get breakfast by Nimmy. He trudges into the great hall, hair messy and clothes rumpled. There are a handful of other students sat at their representative tables, five Ravenclaws, four Hufflepuffs, three Gryffindors. Other than himself at the Slytherin table, there are two others. The Head Boy and the Head Girl. Harry thinks their names might be Amycus and Alecto. The Carrow twins, if he's not mistaken. Harry hasn't been paying much attention to them, if any at all. They seem--

" _Master, the food."_ Nimmy pokes her snout into his hand and Harry jumps, forced from out of his thoughts.

" _Right,"_ he says, " _food."_

He forces himself to eat a bit of scrambled eggs. He's half way into his small portion when his stomach starts cramping from being full. Ah. Maybe Nimmy was right after all. He hadn't been eating properly since the hols had started. Perhaps he was too used to having his friends with him? They usually physically dragged him into the great hall and pushed food filled plates under his nose. No wonder Nimmy and Verde kept nagging at him. 

Harry rests his utensils across the table and starts slowly petting Nimmy's red scales. He uses his index finger to gently run across the bottom of her chin and she leans right into the touch, letting out a content little sigh. _"Thank you,"_ he says, " _for looking out for me."_

Across the table, Verde raises his head from being buried in a bowl of grapes with a loud gasp. He quickly slithers towards Harry, preening when his Master starts petting him too. 

A few minutes later, Hedwig swoops down from many of the windows and lands on the edge of the table, letters attached to her leg. She sticks her leg out with a quiet hoot and Harry detaches the letters with ease. He feeds Hediwg a sausage or two and apologizes for ignoring her yesterday. She affectionately nips at his fingers before flying away. 

One of the letters turns out to be from Hermione. It's short -- telling him off for such a short notice on such an _important_ occasion. Harry reads the words in Hermione's sarcastic voice and can't help but laugh. Another letter is from Draco. It's a long paragraph about how unfair Harry is acting by not taking Ron to the Malfoy's Yule Ball and isn't that funny? Harry thinks it is. There's also a short note at the end of the parchment saying that Mrs Malfoy will come bright and early to pick him and his plus one up. Harry makes a mental note to relay the information to Hermione.

With a smile, Harry settles Nimmy and Verde onto his shoulders and heads back to his dorm. He mulls between his thoughts and ends up resting against the backboard of his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, chin nestled on top of them while he fiddles with his velvet box. He turns it this way and that way, examining it even though he's already seen every crook and nanny.

" _Perhaps it's a courting gift?"_ Nimmy voices quietly from the other end of the bed where she's lazing. The tone of her voice is oddly sour.

Verde's hiss is scandalous. _"But, Master's too young for that!"_ He angrily moves around in a circle several times. " _Once I find out who gave that weird box to him I'll wrap myself around their neck and choke them!"_

Nimmy raises her little head and curls the tail end of her body around herself. " _You're too small for that."_ She points out. 

Pausing, Verde levels his sister with a glare. " _S-shut up!"_ He shouts and then tackles Nimmy with a body slam.

" _Ah! Get off! You're fat."_

" _ **You're**_ _fat!"_

_"Well you're fat **AND** stupid." _

_"Master! She's bullying me again!"_

Snorting, Harry holds the velvet box closer to himself. "A courting gift, huh?" He feels the corners of his lips lift up into a wide smile. _No_ , he thinks, _Voldemort would never._

Courting gifts are usually necklaces and bracelets, brooches and bouquet flowers and the likes. Not whatever remained of the Philosopher's stone once it was used to restore someone's body. 

_Then again,_ Harry internalises as he runs a thumb across the soft structure of the red stone, _Voldemort isn't like everyone else. So the same rules don't necessarily apply._

His wide smile softens into something smaller and his stomach flutters. Harry supposes he could make the shard into a simple necklace. Just so that it doesn't sit in its box in waste. Unbeknownst to him, his dark hair changes into the lightest shade of pink. So light, in fact, that it almost looks white. 

Harry spends the rest of the day crafting the shard to hold onto a thin piece of leathery string, making it look as presentable as possible - he's not quite satisfied with the outcome, but it will have to do for the time being. 

When the awaited day comes, Harry stands in front of the full length mirror in the dorm bathroom and fixes his robes. They're a dark green colour, sort of forest-y with silver linings. The robes aren't too long or too short, they stop perfectly at his ankles. Harry goes through the pockets of his black slacks and pulls out a hairpin, the one that Tracey had gifted to him, and pins it onto the side of his messy and dark hair. The necklace that he had made hangs loosely around his neck, falls right just above the knot of his plain black tie. It glints whenever Harry so much as moves a step. Weirdly enough, that alone makes him feel light, like he's floating. 

" _Master, what about the shoes?"_ Nimmy asks directly into his ear from where she's sprawled across his shoulder. 

Harry glances down at his converse. " _What about them?"_

He doesn't get an immediate answer. Verde snickers from his other shoulder and Nimmy relents with a quiet " _nevermind_." 

With a shrug, Harry glances at himself one more time and deems himself respectable. He then sets off towards his pre-discussed meeting place, head held high and energy buzzing at his fingertips. 

He can't help but grin, wide and wolfish as he imagines all the chaos that he can undoubtedly do at the ball. 

Maybe he'll even embarrass Draco a bit, but that'll depend on his mood once he gets there.

He just hopes his hair doesn't change colour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is shorter than most of my other chapters because, well, um, lets see... i have horrible time management and work always gets in the way? yeah, lets go with that. 
> 
> ((also we went from 700 infected people to over 10,000 in just a few months and that is MIND BLOWING. please stay safe guys! remember to wear your masks and gloves. and ALWAYS wash your hands!))
> 
> ++++  
> harry: *receives a gift from voldy*  
> harry: whats this?? whats this??? there's FEELINGS everywhere  
> verde: bUT YOURE TOO YOUNG  
> nimmy: *sighs*


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. hi. yes. im not dead. what a surprise. id like to apologise for the agonisingly long wait. you must have suffered so much. i did whatever i could and months later, boom! the chapter was done. it took me months!!! like i dont understand???? but i do. writers block is sHiT. anyways, enjoy whatever the fuck this update is.

**Chapter Sixteen:**

As always the Malfoy's have outdone themselves. The walls are decorated with pretty and intricate snowflakes, ranging from tiny ones about the size of a hair's width to humongous ones the size of an average house -- they glint silver whenever you stare at them for a few seconds too long. Trees loom around them, pale and white and without any leaves. They are shiny and large and their thin twigs reach all the way up towards the archway of the ceiling. From the ceiling come lanterns shaped like stars, they glow dimly as they float about. 

Children dressed in colourful robes and glittering ball gowns run around the hall, giggling loudly as they tumble around the strict adults. Behind them trail two tired looking maids, apologising to the guests as they do so. 

Tables are filled with rich food, sweet, salty, savoury -- Harry spots his beloved treacle tart on a beautiful silver tray and makes a beeline straight for it, only to be stopped short by a hand wrapping itself tightly around his wrist.

"Harry," Hermione sighs, long and deep, suffering really. "Where do you think you're going?" 

"'Mione," Harry says, turning back around to face the girl with a large smile. "Have I mentioned how wonderful you look today?" He asks, batting his eyelashes innocently.

Hermione gives him a deadpan look, not quite believing him. It's the truth though. Her robes are pale, blue and purple. They're shiny and silk-like, held together by a silver clasp in the front that's shaped like a crown. Below her robes, Hermione is dressed in a nice, soft looking, baby blue coloured dress. It's short in the front and long at the back. There are purple butterflies gliding lazily across the blue material and when Hermione so much as moves, their wings flutter with life. 

"Really," Harry let's his smile soften, his voice quiet between them, "I'd say even breathtaking."

Hermione flushes and ducks her head, the silver clips in her curly hair glinting with the movement. "Alright. Alright." She grumbles, "let's _politely_ introduce ourselves to the Malfoy's and then I'll take you to the treacle tart."

"Yes ma'am." 

Harry easily -- ahem, okay, _eagerly_ \-- tucks his arm around Hermione's and guides her from the overly large doors of the ball room towards the three Malfoy's stood at the greeting area just to the side of it. A small group of Wizards and Witches just finish their gossip with the trio when they duck their heads and head off into the ballroom. 

The moment Draco spots them, the dead look in his eyes brightens with life. His expression flickers between excitement and… something that resembles worry. 

Not batting an eye and sensing something off, Harry grins at him. He greets with a bow of his head, Hermione following his movements, "Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, Dra-," his words get cut off as Draco engulfs both him and Hermione into a sudden and tight hug. 

_"Not safe,"_ Draco hushes between them, voice muffled and words quick, grip momentarily tightening even more. He then quickly pulls back, a large grin plastered across his lips. "Harry! Hermione! So glad the two of you could make it."

Hermione blinks, a slow, confused flutter of her lashes and Harry leans into her side with a laugh, covering her expression from the older Malfoy's. "Miss us that much, did you?" 

"Apparently," Hermione rolls her eyes. "Can't even go a few weeks without us, can you, Draco?" She banters like she's been friends with the young Malfoy for years and _wow_ , Harry is _so_ proud of her for catching on. 

Draco sticks his tongue out childishly and behind him, his mother clears her throat, eyes narrowing in a silent reprimand. Draco pauses and slowly steps back into his place with a low, "Sorry, Mother."

With a nudge from Hermione, Harry ducks his head once more in greeting. "Thank you for the invitation," they chorus. 

Mr. Malfoy, surprisingly, inclines his head. "Thank you for coming," he says, silver eyes dropping to Harry's neck. His lips twitch when he spots Nimmy trying to poke her snout out from underneath Harry's robes, the red scales being hard to miss.

Mrs. Malfoy also inclines her head. Her eyes stray to the snake clip in his hair as she speaks. "Apologies for not being able to pick you up myself. Was the maid I sent sufficient enough?"

"She was," Harry replies, barely remembering the maid. He watches in amusement as both Lucius' and Narcissa's gaze lowers to the shard of the Philosopher's stone that rests against the knot of his tie. In perfect synchronisation, the two Malfoy's freeze. Harry _swears_ they have stopped breathing all together. 

Their faces are set in complicated lines that he can't read _at all._

Which, uh, _sucks._ Majorly. Because he'd really like to fucking know what's currently running through their minds, but _whatever_. Harry's just going to have to wing it, like he usually does.

"Happy Solstice," he smiles his bullshitting smile and ducks his head, ready to just get on with the ball. He tugs Hermione towards his beloved treacle tart, Narcissa's voice is awfully soft as it carries towards his ears. "Happy Solstice," she repeats back at him.

"Enjoy the ball, Harry!" Draco's voice is loud, the "ow!" he releases a second later is an octave higher.

Harry turns his head ever so slightly, just about catching the sight of Draco rubbing a hand over his ear with a frown. He snorts. 

"Well," Hermione gives an unimpressed frown, gesturing to the tables filled with yummy goods with her hand, "get on with it, then."

Not wasting a moment, Heaven forbid, Harry grabs a plate and stacks it high with treacle tart. They're all crunchy and sticky and his mouth is watering just at the sight of them. They also smell nice, intoxicatingly sweet. His first bite is like when a man wandering the sands for several weeks finally quenches his thirst after days of going without water. It's pure bliss. Sinfully so. He swallows and the treacle flows down his throat smoothly. It's by far the best treacle tart he's ever had. Harry's going to have to ask one of the house elves for the recipe. That is, if he finds one. Dobby mainly. He hopes.

He ends up devouring everything on his plate. Hermione looks a bit disgusted by him and also a little bit awed. "Unbelievable," she mutters. " _Unbelievable."_

"Harry! There you are -- _see_ , Blaise? I told you he'd be near the treacle tart. Didn't I Theo? Didn't I?" Pansy pulls on Theodore's arm and shakes it widely, grinning at Harry from where she pushes between people to get to him. Theodore looks worn out, rolling his eyes all the way towards the ceiling as he mouths _'help me.'_ Blaise walks leisurely behind them, hands stuck in the pockets of his slacks, "Alright, alright. We get it Pansy. We do." 

Harry places his empty plate on the table behind him. "Hello, Pansy," he smiles, small and fond. Pansy throws her arms around him in a tight hug and cries dramatically. "Oh, Harry. I missed you." She sniffs loudly into his shoulder. "I had to level myself with Blaise. It was _terrible_ Harry. _Terrible._ " 

"There, there," Harry says soothingly, patting the girl on the head. "You're with me now, everything is fine."

Hermione wipes away a fake tear. "How tragic," she says. "If only I was there to share the sentiment with you."

Theodore snorts. "I would have gladly switched with you." 

"Forget that," Blaise mumbles, eying Hermione up and down with a calculated look, "we're missing the Weasley. Where is he? Draco's going to throw a fit soon.''

"Good," Pansy huffs, pulling away from Harry. She settles a hand on her hip and puffs out her cheeks. Her satin, dark green dress sways as she gets on her tiptoes to see past the gathering of people around them."I wanna see him embarrass himself."

"Who's embarrassing themselves?" Ron asks, suddenly peeking over Blaise's shoulder. He looks soft with his messy hair and his... glossed lips? He's dressed in wonderful green robes with golden outlines. Harry's going to have a heart attack. Ron is _pretty._

"Holy shit,'' he mutters, awed. 

"Merlin's beard. What am I seeing? Harry, what am I seeing?" Pansy rambles. "Guys, _guys._ What am I seeing?" 

"An angel?" Blaise asks himself, stepping to the side so that they can all see him better. Transfixed, he holds out his hand, "Would you care to dance?" 

Ron blushes, the red colour creeping all the way up to his ears. He fiddles with his fingers and drops his gaze to the floor, biting into the soft flesh of his bottom lip. "Um. I don't know how to dance, so…" 

Bewildered, Blaise drops his hand. 

"No, Hermione, _no_. He's not cute. He's _not."_ Hermione closes her eyes and pats her cheeks with the palms of her hands. "Snap out of it!" 

Ignoring the girl's words, Theo reaches out and cups the so-called angel's cheek. "That's alright," he says softly, "I can teach you." 

"Really?" Ron asks, beaming when he raises his gaze back up. He tilts his head and the movement makes him lean his cheek further into Theo's hand. "Thank you!" 

"Yeah, sure." Theo breathes out, not really hearing the boy. He's too busy looking at his freckles. There's so many of them. And they're beautiful. They glint whenever he moves. "Oh," Theo blinks, "It's suddenly easy to understand why Draco likes you so much."

"He's wonderful, isn't he?" A young girl walks up to their group with a smile. Harry eyes her over. She has long, chocolate brown hair and sharp, green eyes. She holds out her hand. "You must be Harry Potter. I'm Astoria Greengrass. I brought Ron along with me, since you know, the rest of you refused to."

Harry shakes the girl's hand. She's at least a year, maybe two, younger than him. "Must've been a delight for your sister." 

Astoria's smile widens. "Oh, it was." 

The girl then turns her eyes onto Theo. "You should stop that before Draco gets here. You know him. He'll make a fit and embarrass himself." She shakes her head from side to side, as if she's disappointed in the boy. 

Theo pulls away from Ron and pockets his hands. "Yeah, yeah." He mumbles. "Draco's possessive. I know." 

"Now," Astoria claps her hands and jumps up and down, giddy with excitement. Her green eyes sparkle as she looks at Harry with wide, curious eyes. "Where are the snakes? Can I meet them? What are their names? Are they cute?" 

Harry blinks, slow and owlish, bombarded by the questions. Astoria is really different compared to her older sister. More childish, but that's to be expected from the letters that she had sent. "Cute?" He asks, his brows furrowing. "More like annoying."

From his neck, Verde and Nimmy hiss at him in mock warning, but Harry ignores them in favour of taking them down from his neck. They curl around his hands tightly, almost possessively as he shows them off to a starry eyed Astoria. 

_Ah_. Harry thinks with a small smile. _Looks like Draco isn't the only possessive one in their group._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> harry: *wears the Philosopher's shard without thinking of the consequences*  
> lucius and narcissa: what the fuck  
> ******  
> ron: *bats his eyelashes*  
> blaise: an angel?  
> ******  
> draco: *seething from the side lines*  
> lucius: what's with him?  
> narcissa: *pretending to not know* i couldn't possibly fathom the reason dear  
> ******
> 
> pls remember to wash your hands and wear your masks in public or at work. i know you dont like to, but it's for your own good. and make sure to wear the mask OVER you nose otherwise theres really no point in wearing it. thanks guys.
> 
> ((also, maid. in hp?? well. the house elves cant do everything now, can they))


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i  
> a m  
> s o b b i n g  
> s e n d  
> h e l p . . .

**Chapter Seventeen:**

Harry realises, a bit too late, that wearing the necklace made from the philosopher's shard is a strong declaration of… _something_ towards Voldemort. And whatever it is, makes whoever knows about it, lose their _fucking_ minds.

For instance, Barty Crouch Jr, who is supposed to be locked up in Azkaban but isn't -- _and why isn't Harry surprised about that_ \-- spots Harry between the crowd of wizards and witches, lowers his gaze towards the shard necklace and then promptly chokes on the glass of champagne that he's drinking. Barty turns red in the face and then abruptly turns around to face one of the Lestrange brothers -- Rabastan, if he's not mistaken -- and pulls on the other males sleeve. He says something that has Rabastan shaking his head and laughing. 

Barty, who looks just about done with the situation, lays his hand onto Rabastan's face and pushes his jaw to the side so that he's facing Harry’s direction. At once, Rabastan's laughter dies out. His dark eyes widen like saucers and his mouth falls agape. 

Smiling, Harry raises a hand and waves like the suicidal idiot that he is. 

Weirdly enough, Rabastan weakly waves back. 

"Harry," Hermione starts from somewhere behind him, tone exasperated, "who are you waving at?"

Harry turns to look behind him and blinks, somewhat caught off guard. "Oh. I'm waving at Rabastan. Lestrange. You don't know him."

Hermione's nose scrunches up. She eyes Rabastan across the ball room with narrowed eyes. When she turns back to Harry, her gaze is suspicious. "Yes, but _how_ do _you_ know _him?_ Know _Them?"_

"Uh," Harry fumbles awkwardly. "It’s a long story 'Mione--"

Abruptly, the girl steps right into Harry's personal space. There's a single breath between them and the tips of their noses are touching. Hermione's scowl is deep and annoyed. When she speaks, her words are purposefully slow, as if she's talking to a child. "Do _not,_ " she seethes, "call me _that._ " 

"Why?" Harry tilts his head ever so slightly, the motion makes it seem like he's leaning in for an impromptu kiss. "Are you afraid of friendship? Dependence on another human being? Is it anxiety? Is that what it is? I can get you some anxiety pills if that's what you need. Probably--"

Harry stops his rambling when Hermione gets lifted into the air by oncoming hands. Her anger dims into confusion and Harry just stares because _what._ From beneath Hermione, Harry can see shiny shoes and dark grey robes. 

Rabastan's face comes into view from Hermione's shoulder. There's a cheeky smile placed on lips. "Is she bothering you, Little Lord?" He asks. His voice is nice, low and sort of gravely. 

Harry’s insides become instant mush. 

From behind Rabastan, he can just about see Barty -- his hand is outstretched as if he had been trying to haul Rabastan away and failed. His eyes are very, very, very tired. 

Understandable. Considering everything that's going on. 

"Uh, no, I mean," Harry flushes, " _what_. What are you doing? Oh my God. Put her down before she gains her composure and bites you. _Or worse."_

Rabastan quirks a brow but does as he's told to. He places a still confused Hermione back down onto the group, gently, and then pats her head.

At once, Hermione comes back online. Her lips curl into her previous scowl. Angry, she curls her hands into fists and stomps on Rabastan's foot. 

"Ow!" The black haired male yelps, catching the attention of nearby people.

"Come to the ball, Hermione," the girl mutters snidely underneath her breath, "it's going to be _so_ fun, Hermione." She sends a dark glare towards Harry and then turns to walk away. 

Harry yells after her. "Wait, 'Mione! We still haven't talked about that anxiety--"

"There is no anxiety! Let it go!" Hermione yells back, disappearing into the crowd before her. 

Holding his chin between his forefinger and thumb, Harry asks himself quietly, "Well, if it's not anxiety, then what is it?" 

From his side, Barty merely drops his head into his hands and groans loudly. 

"We're leaving," he says, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, "before _he_ finds us talking to something that belongs to _him."_ Barty then grabs Rabastan by the sleeve, looking almost as sour as Daphne does when there's a mention of Ron and Draco in the same sentence, "cmon. Or else _he'll_ literally eviscerate us--"

Rabatsan pouts. 

He fucking _pouts_.

Harry's mental image of the so-called scary Death Eaters crumbles.

"I don't want to. Let me talk to the Little Lord--

"Rabastan. Barty." A smooth, sort of throaty voice comes from deep down in the throat. It penetrates their bickering into silence. 

Harry freezes from head to toe. He _knows_ that voice. Well, if Rabastan's voice turned his insides into mush than this rich, dark voice makes them into something _more_. 

While Lestrange grins, wide and broad, Barty's lips turn down into a frown. They step apart to let the owner of the voice be seen. 

"Sorry, Lestrange is being a _child_ again--"

"Only because _you're_ being the adult--"

Trembling from anticipation, Harry stares up at Tom _fucking_ Riddle with wide, green eyes -- an older version of him, anyways, he looks to be around his mid twenties. His lips part but make no sound and from around his neck, Harry can feel Nimmy and Verde rearing their heads. 

" _Who's that?"_ Nimmy asks from the right. 

From the left, Verde makes the snake equivalent sound of a human's hum. " _He smells like you, Master. Why?"_

Not being able to make a sound, Harry just _stares_. It is _unfair_ how handsome this older version of Tom Riddle is. The diary version had been still young, boyish almost but this version is… just _too_ fucking good looking. 

Again. It is _highly_ unfair. 

Harry's green eyes make contact with deep, red ones and something inside him shifts ever so slightly. It feels like a gentle touch of warmth. It seeps out from the scar of his forehead and spreads throughout his body, setting goosebumps across his skin. 

Unbeknownst to Harry, his hair turns startlingly white. It is like the first sign of snow -- pure, pristine and breathtaking. 

Dazed, he moves as if possessed by another being. Harry stumbles into Tom's chest and wraps his arms around the males waist. He inhales the scent of Tom. He is _fresh_ and _clean_ and _sharp_. Harry muffles a whimper into Tom's robes when the older of the two just stands there and doesn't hold him back, likely frozen by the unexpected hug. 

Through the haze in his mind, Harry concludes that Tom doesn't know what affection is and therefore doesn't know how to recuperate a hug. 

The sound of Barty choking on nothing but thin air and Rabstan coughing to hide a laugh is as good as an answer he'll ever get. 

Suddenly, hesitantly, Tom's fingers touch the edge of Harry's jaw and gently lift his head up. The skin to skin contact sends shivers wracking up and down Harry's spine. He leans his face into Tom's hand and gazes up at him with glazed eyes. _"I miss'd you,"_ he slurs, completely gone on the feeling of tentative heat and safety and--

 _Safety,_ some part of Harry's brain snorts, _you don't even know what that is._

He politely tells that part of his brain to _fucking shut up._

Tom quirks a single brow and something akin to wild curiosity and fiery hunger flashes in his ruby coloured eyes. The hand he has on Harry's cheek moves to slide around the side of his throat. Tom's long, elegant fingers wrap around his neck tightly. In his low, sultry voice, he asks, _"How could you have missed me if we haven't properly met before?"_

 _"Watch where you're touching!"_ Verde hisses, angrily moving across Harry's shoulders. He settles himself by his sister. _"Who do you think you are? Touching my Master without perm--"_

Nimmy raises her tail and slaps it across Verde's snout. " _Be quiet_." She hushes. " _The adults are talking now."_

_"The adults my ass--"_

_"You don't even have one--"_

Too wrapped up in each other, the two parselmouths don't even notice the arguing snakes sitting on Harry’s shoulder. 

Lips puckering into a pout, Harry feels confusion through the cloudiness in his head. _"You don't remember?"_ He asks, tone timid and quiet. _"You don't remember that I have a part of your soul in me? That I'm your horcrux?"_

The hand around Harry’s neck tightens and becomes more firm. Tom's red eyes shine with feral possessiveness. _"My horcrux,"_ he breathes out, completely enthralled _, "my little horcrux."_

He moves his hand so that his palm rests against Harry's cheek once more. Tom threads his fingers into thick locks of white hair and tugs on them ever so gently. He watches in utter fascination as Harry tilts his head back with the movement and exposes the tanned length of his neck. 

The smile that graces Tom's lips is wide and toothy, predatory. _"My beautiful, little horcrux,"_ he murmurs and then tips his head so that his lips graze over his beloved horcrux's forehead. 

That blush that then takes over Harry's face is breathtaking.

//unedited   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right. okay. this update is VERY late but at least its fucking here. originally, i hadn't planned for tom and harry to meet at the ball but plans ~ change ~ they changed because the majority of you guys (yes, you, my reader) had wanted them to finally meet so BOOM. there you go. there's that mess. have fun with it.
> 
> if this chapter seems iffy its because i had a lovely encounter with pneumonia and when that cleared out, well mostly, i caught strep throat and basically i wrote this inn between the breaks of my fever. i hope this isn't as catastrophic as it seems to me. 
> 
> I'll try to respond to comments when I find the time. 
> 
> and remember kids;  
> • WASH YOUR HANDS  
> • WEAR YOUR FACE MASK OVER YOUR NOSE AND UNDER YOUR CHIN  
> • DRINK PLENTY OF WATER  
> • and stop reading fanfiction at shit-o-clock in the morning. gets some fucking SLEEP.
> 
> and as usual, until next time ~♡
> 
> +++  
> hermione: i don't need your friendship!!  
> harry: pills. i can get you some pills--  
> hermione: nO  
> \----  
> barty: *notices harry wearing the shard*  
> barty: when the fuck did our Lord have the time for that i--  
> barty: *takes the whole bottle of champagne and chugs it down*  
> \----  
> harry: *sees tom*  
> harry: A F F E C T I O N *glomps*  
> tom: ????? *confused noises*  
> \----  
> rabastan: *excited puppy noises*  
> tom: *glares*  
> rabastan: *louder exited puppy noises*  
> \----  
> tom: i have a child. a child horcrux. is... is this how you act with a child?? hello???
> 
> Q: verdy and nimmy versus barty and rabstan -- who would win?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D O U B L E  
> T R O U B L E  
> w i n k w i n k

**_Chapter Eighteen:_ **

"It must have been an accident," Tom murmurs, grazing his thumb ever so softly over Harry's scar. They're locked away from prying eyes, hidden in one of the many study rooms of Malfoy Manor. The colour theme in this room is much softer compared to the rest, it's all rich browns and warm golds. The room is also casted in a dim glow from the fireplace. 

Nimmy and Verde are still arguing. Only now they're slithering around each other on the work desk on the other side of the room. 

"Mhhm," Harry hums from where he's sitting across the dark loveseat, one leg casually thrown over the Dark Lord's thigh. It fits snugly between Tom's own legs. Harry's eyes are half lidded as Tom inspects his scar with curious eyes. The fingers skimming over his mark are like a featherlight touch. He's got goosebumps all over his body and he's so, _so_ warm. He's _gooey_ and _floaty_ and filled to the brim with butterflies. 

Which he shouldn't be. Because this is Tom. Tom -- _Voldemort_ \-- who had connected his skin to Harry's own years and years ago and had set it promptly on fire. And that fiery, bruising pain had left an unseen mark, but _this_ , _this_ touch right now, isn't anything like before. 

And it's mind blowing. 

"Still," Tom's voice is quiet between them, filled with something akin to awe, "a human horcrux. How _peculiar_. How truly _curious._ " He holds Harry's face between his hands and stares down at him with an unreadable expression. There's a slight furrow between his brows but that's all Harry can read from his expression. 

"How do you know about them? About the horcruxes?" Tom questions. 

Harry gets lost in the feeling of being held in the other males hands. His brain just fills and fills with endorphins. When was the last time he had let someone touch him like this? He can't even remember. For a moment he is quiet and then he remembers that he has to answer. With a breathy voice, he asks, "about _yours_ or just generally?" 

Tom's hold turns abruptly bruising. His fingers slip into still white hair and they pull harshly onto whatever locks of hair they can. 

Harry just lets out a long breath, hardly affected by the slight tinge of pain. He watches rage build inside deep red eyes and gets lost in them. Tom's lips curl into a cruel scowl. _"How do you know about my horcruxes?"_ He hisses, voice dangerously low. His chest heaves with effort and his breath quickens. 

_Hot,_ Harry thinks, _he's so hot._

His brain is everywhere but in this conversation. For fucks sake. Just when he needs it--

 _"Tell me."_ Tom orders. The flickering flames from the fireplace cast shadows onto his face and make him seem like he's shrouded in the dark. Like he's unreachable. Like he's--

It's funny how Tom's very own eyes give him away. The same rage that shines within them reflects the fear of death that he holds. How sad. How very, truly sad. 

Harry places one hand onto Tom's wrist and the other on top of the large hand that sits on his cheek. He feels a fluttering pulse and closes his eyes. Harry leans right into Tom's palm and settles there with a quiet, content sigh. _"I won't hurt them," Harry says, "they're like me."_ He nuzzles into Tom's hand and feels him turn rigid. _"You trusted me with the stone. So, trust me with this as well."_

Tom stays quiet and his other hand retreats from Harry's face. Frowning, Harry opens his eyes only to find Tom with a pinched expression. 

_"Yes,"_ he finally relents _, "I trusted an eleven year old who wrote me a letter about the philosopher’s stone which was covered in hearts. Surely I should trust him to keep my horcruxes a secret. There's absolutely no reason to be weary at all."_

Harry sucks in his bottom lip. _"The hearts looked pretty,"_ he defends. 

Tom's eyes narrow. _"I thought you were mocking me. I wanted to kill you."_

 _"I wasn't mocking you!"_ Harry hurries to add. He averts his eyes and his cheeks turn red as he speaks, _"I just got a little carried away, is all."_

 _"And anyways,"_ Harry huffs and glances back at Tom, _"_ ** _you're_ ** _the one who sent_ **_me_ ** _a shard of the philosopher’s stone."_

Tom bristles. He _actually_ bristles. _"I sent it to you as a gift," he states, "a gift! For helping me get the stone. You're the one who changed it into a necklace--"_

Here, he cuts himself off. Tom blinks. Once. Twice. And then thrice for good measure. He abruptly pulls Harry closer, right into his lap, and settles his arms around his waist. 

Harry’s already red cheeks darken further. The flush travels all the way to the tips of his ears and Tom catches himself thinking that Harry looks rather pretty like this -- sitting in his lap, looking flushed and confused. _"W-what are you doing?"_ He asks. 

Ignoring the question, Tom hooks a finger around the thin thread of Harry's necklace and tugs on it. The shard piece glints invitingly. _"You are playing a very dangerous game, Potter."_

_"I'm literally sitting in your lap. I hugged you and you didn't kill me. You can call me Harry."_

Tom takes a deep, deep breath and reminds himself that his patience will get him rewarded one day. _"Then, you are playing a very dangerous game, Harry."_

 _"Better,"_ Harry grins, wide and impish. _"Now, hold on and let me get comfortable."_ He shifts himself on Tom's lap so that his knees are on each side of the male. He grabs the hand that Tom isn't using to hold his necklace and places it onto his lower back. _"There,"_ his already wide grin widens, "d _one."_

Harry earns a pinch to his side and a frustrated sigh.

 _"You brat,"_ Tom seethes, _"do you not know that your actions have consequences? Here you are walking around collared, particularly announcing to the world that you belong to me."_

Harry tilts his head ever so slightly and fiddles with Tom's robes. They're nice and soft and are coloured sort of pale grey with silver outlines. _"Don't I?"_ He asks quietly.

Tom's expression turns bewildered. _"I killed your parents,"_ he deadpans. He doesn't look the least bit remorseful. _"You should be screaming at me. Threatening me. Firing spells at me. Not sitting in my lap acting coy."_

 _"Hey!"_ Harry slaps at Tom's chest half-heartedly. _"I'm not acting coy. I am coy."_

Tom's bewilderment only furthers. 

_"And besides,"_ Harry sniffs, _"it's not like I remember them or whatever. So, I forgive you."_ He stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his green eyes into a glare. _"Either you accept my forgiveness or I'm getting off your lap."_

Tom's hand moves suspiciously quick from his back to fully wrap around his waist. Harry is then easily tugged forwards, closer to the Dark Lord than he had been before. _"I wasn't asking for your forgiveness,"_ Tom scowls, having to lower his head so that he can make eye contact with Harry, _"but I suppose I'll accept it."_

 _"Then,"_ Harry licks his lips, _"I am yours. Because that's what you said earlier. You called me your, um,"_ he fumbles over his words, _"y-your, um…"_

Tom rests the necklace back against the hollow of Harry's throat and effectively stops his stuttering. _"Do you know the meaning of this necklace?"_ He asks. His voice is soft now, low, sort of honeyed. There's a tiny lift to the corner of his mouth.

Dazed, Harry shakes his head no. 

_"This necklace that you made from my gift to you,"_ Tom pauses to lean his head back into the loveseat and his eyes glint in possessiveness just like before _, "is a warning for anyone elsel interested to stay away. It means that you are mine, Harry, and mine alone. Do you understand?"_

 _"Yes."_ Harry breathes out, feeling his insides melt into nothingness. He makes a soft, high pitched, needy whine and leans in to rub his cheek against Tom's own. _"Yours. Just yours."_

Tom's hand comes to rest at the back of his head. It's large and warm and Harry feels safe, content in Tom's embrace. Tom pets his hair like one would pet a dogs fur and Harry loses himself in the feeling of finally being affectionate with someone. 

_"You’re needy."_ Tom murmurs and then, after a short moment, he ads, _"I'll keep you, my little horcrux."_

_//unedited._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha. me? double updating? that is rarer than rare.  
> guys. GUYS. wtf. calm down. obvsly harry is still physically a //child// and therefore there will be no  
> s e x t y t i m e s . just affection and fluff. well. for the time being anyways. 
> 
> and remember kids. this is c r a c k that is somewhat treated seriously so take it with a pinch of salt and quiet the fuuuuuck down :)) 
> 
> aannnnd as usual i will be trying to answer to as many comments as possible. i am trying. really. I am. there's just too many. like i remember in the beginning how i only had like 2 to 5 comments and now there's over 70 and its like bOOOOM. mind blowing. anyways--
> 
> • WASH YOUR GODDAMN HANDS PPL  
> • WEAR YOUR MASK OVER YOUR NOSE AND UNDER YOUR CHIN OR ELSE THERES RLLY NO POINT IN IT FFS you might as well not wear one if its under your fkn nose akdbsnsjjsjs  
> • DRINK LOTS OF WATER  
> • and for the love of merlin and all that is arthur and his knights of the round table.... GET SOME FKN SLEEP. and i MEAN IT !!
> 
> thanks for reading ~ I'll see you guys next time ^^
> 
> ++++  
> harry: *is a precious baby. shy baby. cute baby. confident baby*  
> tom: *realises he's doomed* oh no  
> \----  
> nimmy: you ain't shit  
> verde: well you ain't EVEN shit  
> nimmy: that doesn't even make sense u dumb fucking moron--  
> \----  
> tom: *is literally debating on how to kill harry on the spot*  
> harry: WOW. he's so h o t  
> \----  
> tom: *gets harrys letter.*  
> tom: *sees that its covered in hearts*  
> tom: *crushes the letter in his hand*  
> tom: this motherfucker--  
> \----  
> harry: I'm yours  
> tom: *exasperated* yes. but do u know what that means?  
> harry: Y O U R S  
> tom: *giving up* ffs fINE you're MINE  
> harry: *happy noises*  
> \---  
> tom: *to harry* i'll keep you  
> me: well its not like you have a fucking choice there buddy he's literally your soul mate go party u dumbass


End file.
